A Deadly Rage
by KathyG
Summary: In story #8 of my end-times series, it is the middle of the Tribulation, and the murder-resurrection of Moses and Elijah and the murder-Satanic indwelling of Antonio Puccini are set to take place. Can the angels stop the perpetrators from taking part in the two murders, with the help of some old friends? And when an earthquake traps a young girl, will she be found in time?
1. Prologue

**A DEADLY RAGE**

**By KathyG.**

**What would Tess, Monica, Andrew, and Gloria do, if they found themselves during the end-times scenario prophesied in the Bible, prior to Jesus' coming? What kinds of assignments would they receive? How would they handle their assignments? This alternate-universe series is my attempt to answer that question, to surmise how the angels would handle the events of the Rapture and the Tribulation.**

**The first story in this ongoing series was written by Robin Day and myself. The rest, I am writing on my own.**

**In story #8 of my end-times series, it is the middle of the Tribulation, and the murder-resurrection of Moses and Elijah and the murder-Satanic indwelling of Antonio Puccini are set to take place. Can the angels stop the perpetrators from taking part in the two murders, with the help of some old friends? And when an earthquake traps a young girl following the resurrection of Moses and Elijah, will she be found in time?**

**NOTE: The physical descriptions of the two witnesses, Moses and Elijah, and the names they go by, were borrowed from the **_**Left Behind**_** series, co-authored by ****Tim LaHaye**** and ****Jerry B. Jenkins****. K.G.**

**PROLOGUE**

"Ryan Whittaker has outlived his usefulness to me." The unmistakable Italian accent came through the carved mahogany door, muted but still clear. "He has turned to that mythical Jesus, and so has his wife." Antonio Puccini paused. "The time has come to eliminate them both."

"And their children, too?" Elijah Dayan's unmistakable thick Israeli accent.

Puccini chuckled. "Kill them, when they could be such an invaluable asset to us when they are older?" He paused. "I think not, Elijah. I will turn them over to a trusted associate to rear. He has agreed to act as their foster parent. He will rear them to be loyal."

The thuds of a pair of leather shoes reached the eavesdropper's ears, followed by Elijah's own chuckles. "With the pope dead and his religion gone..." He paused. "I think they should be taught to revere you. That new world religion was too impersonal, anyway. Its assets will be put to better use by you than it was by Pope Benedict." Dayan laughed. "Very well, Excellency. When do you plan to kill them?"

"Tonight. When I return from Rome." A pause. "I will order Ryan and Kristen to meet me at the airport, and there I will have assassins shoot them."

The eavesdropper could not bear to hear anymore. He was in shock. He had long since begun to have his doubts about Puccini, but he had never imagined that their beloved world leader would be capable of something like this! A mixture of rage toward Antonio and fear for his friends, Ryan and Kristen, surged through him. He had to warn them immediately!

The man took a deep breath, clenching his hands into white-knuckled balls and pressing them against his hips. Slowly, he tiptoed away from the door to Dayan's office, his own shoes clicking softly on the linoleum floor. "I've got to warn them," he muttered. "I'm not going to stand by and let them be murdered by their own employer!" He pursed his lips at the thought, then brushed his light-brown hair out of his eyes.

As unwanted memories of that morning rose in his head, he made a valiant effort to resist smashing his fist against the wall. "And my own sister!" he muttered. "To think that she'd turn traitor to our faith and…and…" He shook his head. "Ryan and Kristen accepting that mythical Messiah is one thing. They're not of our faith anyway, so I have no problem with their decision. But Deborah is something else. I will not have her praying to this—this Yeshua!" He shook his fist in the air. "If it hadn't been for those repulsive preachers at the Wailing Wall, she never would have! She goes to visit them every chance she gets! I wish someone would kill them!"

He glared at the oil painting on the wall, then took a deep breath. This was not the time to explode in anger; this was the time for prayer. Leaning against the wall, he bit his lower lip. _Wish I had my prayer shawl,_ he thought. As an old craving welled up in him, he bit his lower lip. _And a cigarette!_ He sighed. _I've _got_ to quit smoking! I'm ruining my health._

He took another deep breath. "God of our fathers—Jehovah," he prayed, "I'm faced with a crisis I don't know how to deal with. Antonio Puccini wants to murder my good friends, Ryan and Kristen. And my sister has rejected our faith and turned Christian."

He raised his hand to strike the wall, then dropped it. He could ill-afford to risk attracting attention just then. "I ask You, Jehovah, to intervene. Please bring my sister back to her senses. And please protect Ryan and his family."

Opening his eyes, he trudged down the hall, till he came to the elevators. He paused for a moment, then pressed the elevator button. As soon as he could, he would contact Ryan and warn him. Unknown to him, four angels stood across the hall, watching the morose Israeli Jew wait for the elevator.

"His name is David Weizmann," Tess, the heavy-set black supervisor angel, said. "He lives alone with his younger sister, Deborah here in Jerusalem, and he works directly for Elijah Dayan." The mass of salt-and-pepper curls piled on her head swayed as she shook her head in evident disapproval at the man's attitude. A ruby brooch sparkled on her chest.

Monica, the Irish-tongued caseworker angel, frowned. "He works for the False Prophet?"

Andrew nodded. "Yes, he does." He inserted his hands into his pants pockets as he spoke.

Gloria tilted her head, eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. "His sister's been visiting Moses and Elijah?" She fingered her glasses, then slid them up the bridge of her nose.

Tess nodded. "Yes, she has, and thanks to them, she's become a Tribulation believer. Deborah's always been loyal to her brother, and she's quite concerned about him. Unfortunately, his hostility toward her new faith could drive a wedge between them that destroys them both."

Monica nodded agreement. "Where is Deborah?"

"At the Wailing Wall," Tess said. "Speaking privately with the two witnesses right now. Come with me, and I will point her out to you."

The angels left. The elevator door slid open; the man stepped inside.

"I'm so worried about my brother." Deborah spoke softly, not wanting to attract attention. "He's a good man, but he's so stubborn." She sighed. "He thinks he's right to reject Yeshua as Messiah, because he think Yeshua's an impostor. I can't get him to realize that the prophecies all point to Him!" She bit her lower lip. "I'm afraid to even talk about Yeshua to David anymore, or pray in front of him."

The three stood alone in an enclosed spot near the Wailing Wall. The afternoon sunlight illuminated the whole area; fluffy white clouds drifted across the sky. For once, Deborah had found the two witnesses alone, a most unusual occurrence during the day. A few minutes before, when she had arrived, Eli had beckoned to her and gestured toward that spot. As always, he and Moishe wore ragged sackcloth robes and went barefoot. Both had long gray beards and long mustaches; lines crisscrossed their faces. Now, as she wrapped her arms around her chest, he nodded. The now-familiar scent of ashes wafted toward Deborah's nose.

"Think not that Jesus came to bring peace, but a sword," Eli paraphrased.

Deborah brushed a tear out of her eye. "I know. And that sword can tear families apart." She sighed. "I love my older brother, and I don't want to lose him. What should I do?"

"Pray for him, and trust God." Moishe touched her shoulder. "God loves your brother. He will never leave you nor forsake you."

The young woman smiled wanly. "Thank you." She half-turned to look behind her. "I must go now." She walked away, with a lighter, brisker step than the slow trudge she had approached them with. Her shoes clicked on the rectangular stone tiles lining the area in front of the Wailing Wall.

The same four angels watched her go. "Deborah and her brother were born in Yugoslavia, when it was still under Communist control," Tess said. "When David was five and Deborah was just a baby, her parents took the kids and escaped. Along with the family of their uncle."

Monica gaped at her, then at the departing Deborah. "I remember them! Their lives were in mortal danger, so God sent me to—"

"To save their lives," Tess finished. "To get them safely out of the country."

Monica nodded, clasping her hands in front of her waist. "Yes. I was still in Search and Rescue, then."

Andrew shook his head. "David doesn't know it, but he's going to have to flee again, very soon. The murders of Moses and Elijah are just days away now."

"And the murder of Antonio Puccini?" Gloria tilted her head.

"Yes. But he will come back, indwelt by Satan." Tess shook her head. "When he does, he will commit the abomination of desolation. Then every Jew in Israel will have to flee to Petra, including David." She paused, folding her arms across her chest. "The Father is soon going to enlist the help of some old friends of ours, in saving their lives—Richard and Christina Daly. And that of Ryan and Kristen. But before that day comes, David must learn to accept the truth."

Gloria winced. "Will David murder the two witnesses?"

Andrew shook his head. "No, Gloria, Puccini will do that. But his cohort, Dayan, is going to enlist David's help in preparing for it." He sighed. "It won't be easy, to get through to David. His own hostility toward the witnesses runs deep."

Monica sighed in her turn, sadness welling up in her. She watched the young Israeli woman until she disappeared around the corner. Overhead, a snow-white dove flew over the Wailing Wall; the two witnesses raised their heads to watch it disappear. 

**END OF PROLOGUE**

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	2. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

As that same dove flew past their apartment window in Rome, later that day, Ryan Whittaker leaned back in his armchair and set his coffee cup on the mahogany coffee table. It landed with a soft clink in the china saucer. He glanced out the window at the late-afternoon sunlight pouring into their living room, then smiled at the baby in Kristen's arms.

"Well, we truly are blessed." He reached down to tousle his two-year-old son's soft hair. "First a son, and now a daughter."

Kristen beamed. "Yes. I'm so glad God gave them to us!" Sadness creased her forehead. "I just pray that God will let them live to see the Glorious Appearing." She reached up a hand to brush her hair behind her back. Two pearl earrings dangled from her earlobes, gleaming in the late-afternoon sunlight.

"So do I. Moreover, I pray that God will let _us_ survive." Ryan shook his head. "With the pope dead, it's only a matter of time, now, till things heat up."

"I know. Moses and Elijah—then Antonio Puccini..." Kristen's voice trailed off.

The cell phone beeped; Ryan reached sideways to pick it up. As he held it to his ear, a familiar Israeli accent reached his ears. "Hello, Ryan. _Shalom_!"

Ryan smiled broadly. "David! Hello. _Shalom_ to you, too." He straightened his back, exchanging smiles with Kristen. "How's Deborah?"

"She's all right." David's voice sounded just a little hard; Ryan couldn't put a finger on why. "However, there's no time to waste. You and Kristen are in great danger, Ryan."

Ryan shot a worried look at his wife, who clutched the baby to her bosom. "Danger?"

"Yes. You know that Puccini is in Israel, meeting with my employer Dayan?"

Ryan nodded. "Yes. My substitute pilot took him there, because my wife and I are on maternity leave."

"I know." David paused. "My friend, you must get out of Rome _right now_! Go into hiding and stay in hiding! I just overheard Puccini and Dayan talking, a couple of hours ago. Puccini knows you're Christians, and he plans to murder you and Kristen, and take your children for the state. This evening, when he arrives from his trip."

Ryan leaped to his feet; gripping the arms of her chair, Kristen leaned forward, alarm etched on her face. For a long moment, Ryan locked eyes with his wife. "Thank you for warning me, David."

"You're welcome. Good-bye." He paused. "Let me know when you and the family are coming, and I'll meet you at Tel Aviv."

"OK. I will." A click, followed by a dial tone, followed David's voice.

Slowly, Ryan laid the cell phone on the coffee table and bit his lower lip. Slowly, he turned to face his wife. Although stunned by the news, Ryan was not totally surprised. In the back of his mind, he'd been expecting Puccini to attempt something like this sooner or later. Now that the time had come, he was determined to protect his wife and children. He had to get them away from Rome, and quickly.

"Ryan?" Kristen rose to her feet, her face white. "What's wrong?" She laid baby Nicole on the armchair, then turned to face her husband.

Ryan took a deep breath. "We're in danger, Kristen," he said slowly. "We've got to run for it immediately. Puccini wants to kill us and take our children for the state."

Before Kristen could react, the regular phone jangled. Making a face, Ryan picked it up. "Hello, Ryan," Puccini said.

Ryan bit his lower lip. "Hello, Antonio. How are your meetings with Elijah Dayan coming?"

"They are coming nicely." Antonio sounded pleased. "I am getting ready to return to Rome now, and I want you and Kristen to meet me at the airport in four hours. We have a flight scheduled, and your substitute cannot make it, so I must ask you to cut your maternity leave short. Both of you."

Before Ryan could answer, the phone suddenly went dead. "Wha-at...?" Puzzled, he laid the receiver on its base, then picked it up again. The dial tone buzzed in his ear, same as always.

"Hello, Ryan." Andrew appeared on the other side of the coffee table, glowing, wearing a beige suit. "God has just disconnected your call, so you wouldn't be obligated to make any promises to Puccini. He won't be able to get back through at this time, so don't worry about a repeat call." Ryan nodded. That was a relief!

Andrew paused, looking from Ryan to Kristen. "Don't do as he says. Take David's warning and get out now. Go to Israel. Another angel and I have a private plane waiting at the airport. Go with me there, and we will take you to Tel-Aviv."

Ryan and Kristen exchanged glances, then nodded. "Come on, honey. Let's pack." Ryan put his arm around Kristen's shoulder, then turned to Andrew. "Would you watch the babies for us?" He grabbed his cell phone. "I've got to call David." He paused. "Then I've got to call a friend who lives nearby and arrange to visit him immediately. I'm going to have to convert our bank account into gold, and fast."

"Certainly." Andrew smiled, as Kristen handed him her daughter. The two hurried toward their bedroom, their shoes softly thudding on the soft carpet.

A little over an hour later, Andrew drove them to the airport in Tess's old Cadillac convertible. He had pulled up the top so that no one would see his passengers plainly. Ryan leaned back, as the hum of the air-conditioning soothed his overwrought emotions.

Andrew craned his head to look back at the two. Chuckling, the angel of death explained, "Tess gave me permission to borrow it for this drive."

Ryan grinned. "Tess is very protective of this car, isn't she?"

Andrew bit back a grin. "She calls it her baby!" Ryan laughed. He could understand that sentiment.

Kristen smiled wanly. "Please thank her for us, would you?"

Andrew promised that he would. At that moment, he entered the airport grounds; a few minutes later, he pulled up next to a small plane. As he escorted the passengers aboard, the convertible vanished.

"Hello, Adam." Andrew greeted the other angel of death, who had taken his seat on the flight officer's side. Both angels now wore pilot's uniforms, Ryan noticed.

"Hello." Adam smiled. 'Well, let's be on our way." He removed his cap and laid it on the shelf next to him. In the back, Ryan and Kristen took their cushioned seats and fastened their seat belts.

The flight went smoothly; to Ryan and Kristen's relief, the control tower did not question Andrew about his passengers. A few hours later, at midnight, the plane touched down at Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv. Glittering stars dotted the black sky. The Whittakers thanked the two angels for transporting them to safety, then entered the terminal. A familiar figure appeared at the bottom of the escalator. Thirty years old, he had light-brown hair, green eyes, and tanned skin; he was tall and skinny. The man had a narrow nose and a cleft in his chin.

"David!" Ryan rushed toward his Israeli friend, Kristen right behind. The two men embraced, then David bowed toward Kristen. "It's so good to see you," Ryan said.

"And to see you." David frowned. "We'd better hurry—there's no time to waste. I've got a car outside; I'll take you to Jerusalem. You can stay with my sister and me." He smiled at the babies. "Your babies are really growing!"

Kristen beamed. "Yes, they are, aren't they?" Ryan gazed proudly at little Jeremy and Nicole.

During the drive, the three adults chatted nonstop. They shared stories of recent events. The babies slept peacefully in car seats David had brought for the trip. Ryan noticed, however, that David did not speak of his sister. _Bad sign—he usually speaks of her freely,_ he thought. _I hope she's all right!_

As they drove through East Jerusalem, Ryan and Kristen gazed at the old familiar sites. When they came to the Wailing Wall, now silent and dark, David stopped the car suddenly. A loud honk behind them startled all three, so David pulled up to the curb and turned off the ignition.

Before Ryan or Kristen could react, David leaped out of the car. His face turned red; he clenched his hands and pressed them against his sides. "I might have known," he muttered, rage in his voice. 

**END OF CHAPTER 1 **

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	3. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

"What's wrong, David?" Stepping out of the car, Kristen approached him, glancing behind her toward the sleeping babies. A cool breeze ruffled her hair as she hurried toward him.

"That!" David pointed a trembling finger at a lone figure standing near the two witnesses. "My sister's right there!" He pressed his fists against his hips.

Ryan peered at the person, till he saw that she was a familiar plump figure with shoulder-length black hair. _It's Deborah!_ he thought. _What's she doing here at this time of night?_ "David—" he began.

Before Ryan could say another word, David rushed toward the three, his shoes thudding on the stone tiles lining the ground, rage surging in his heart. He wanted to shake Deborah, slap her, yell at her. It infuriated him that his own sister, of all people, would turn traitor to their faith by turning to that impostor! He would make her regret that she had ever begun to listen to those two men if she didn't immediately come to her senses.

When David was within 10 feet of her, he paused. He took a deep breath, praying for control of his temper. Then he marched toward his sister, his lips pressed into a thin line. He grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

"David!" she gasped, her hazel eyes widening in shock.

"How _dare_ you?!" David roared. "You—you—_traitor_! You are a disgrace to me, a disgrace to our parents—!" He raised his hand to slap her; she jerked away from him and backed away, clutching her purse against her waist.

"You—_you—_!" he roared. "I will not have my sister listening to these—these traitors! Least of all in the middle of the night—you should have been in bed by now! You come with me right now, Deborah! You're going home!" He glared at the two men, who stood regally, with impassive expressions etched on their deeply lined faces. "These men have already killed too many—they might kill you!"

Deborah shook her head. "No, they won't," she said softly, glancing toward the two evangelists. "They won't kill any Jew who's recognized his or her Messiah. They know me, David."

Ryan rushed toward them. "Uh, David, could I talk to you privately?" he asked. Taking a deep breath, David nodded.

Ryan led him away from Deborah. Ryan wiped his hands on his jeans, then looked his friend in the eyes. "David, you're not going to succeed in making her reject Jesus." He kept his voice low. "All you're going to do is drive a wedge between you that can never be fixed. She loves you dearly, but she will not renounce her Messiah even for you."

David glared at him. "My sister is a traitor!"

Ryan shook his head. "I pray that one day, God will open your eyes. In the meantime, listen to me." He gripped David's shoulder. "My friend, Richard Daly—the one I told you about—well, he thought he could bully his wife into rejecting God. He was a hardcore atheist when she first accepted Him, and her faith enraged him, threatened him. He even threatened to divorce her if she didn't give it up."

David sighed. "Obviously, he didn't."

"No, he didn't. God finally got his attention." Ryan glanced toward the two witnesses. "And I believe that He will get yours, but I pray it will not take an awful tragedy to do so. In the meantime, leave Deborah alone. Your point about her leaving the house at night is well-taken because that's dangerous, but let her visit the witnesses during the day if she chooses. Don't give her such a hard time, because it won't work anyway."

David exhaled slowly, slumping his shoulders. "All right. I'll leave her alone." He paused to rub his forehead. "For now." He glanced at the moon's half-circle hanging over the top of the Wailing Wall, then bit his lower lip.

He returned to Deborah, who waited with held breath. His shoes clicked on the smooth stone tiles. "Come on, Deborah." His voice had softened. "We have guests, and we need to take them to our home. Ryan and Kristen have fled from Antonio Puccini." He pointed his finger at her chest. "Don't leave the house at night again! Any criminal could have assaulted you."

Ryan nodded agreement. "Yes. He's right about that, Deborah. It'll be much safer to visit the witnesses during the day." He paused. "David, here, told us that Puccini was planning to kill us, so we had to get away."

Deborah winced. "I'm so glad you're safe, and I will pray that you remain safe." She hung her purse from her left shoulder.

The group returned to David's car, and drove to the Weizmann house. "Come in." David swung the front left car door open, then climbed out of the car. "Feel free to stay until you get a place of your own."

"Thanks." Ryan smiled, then glanced at Kristen. "We left so suddenly, we didn't have time to pack all our things. They're still at our apartment." He opened the car door as he spoke, then proceeded to un-strap the babies from the car seats.

Kristen nodded agreement. "We may not be able to get them back, hon. I don't know if it'll ever be safe to go back to Rome." She grimaced, then smiled. "At least we brought our Bibles with us. That's most important."

"I agree." Nodding, Ryan lifted out two-year-old Jeremy and handed him to his wife. He then lifted out Nicole and held her against his shoulder. The baby cooed, then closed her eyes. A cool breeze caressed Ryan's cheek as he repositioned Nicole.

Deborah touched Ryan's arm. "Yes, it is." He grimaced, then nodded agreement. "Trust me, Ryan, my family well knows what it is to flee for one's life. We had to do that, ourselves."

Kristen nodded. "When?"

"When they escaped from Yugoslavia," Ryan told her. "David himself only told me about it a few months ago."

"That's right. David was just five at the time, and I was a baby no older than Nicole, here."

David nodded. "She's right. I was just a little boy when our family escaped from Yugoslavia. We faced death the whole time, and to this day, I marvel that we even made it. Jehovah protected us." He shook his head, exchanging glances with his sister.

"He certainly did," Ryan agreed.

David glanced at the velvet sky glistening with stars. "Let's go inside—it'll be morning in a few hours."

Inside, Deborah glanced at the wall clock that hung over the couch. "And now, it's time to go to bed." She left the living room; David escorted the Whittakers to their guest room.

"We'll get a crib at the market first thing in the morning. I regret we had no chance to get one today," David told them, as they entered their bedroom. Ryan and Kristen smiled their thanks; Ryan flipped the light switch. Soft light flooded the room. David paused in the doorway, fidgeting. "Are you going to call your sister, Ryan?"

Ryan and Kristen exchanged troubled glances, then laid the babies on the bed. "No." Ryan sighed. "I hate to worry my sister or Richard, but I'm afraid to chance it. If word got back to Antonio that I called them, he'd have a manhunt sent after us in no time." He paused. "I have prayed that God would make a way to safely let Christina and Richard know, and soon. I don't want to keep them worrying any longer than I just have to."

David nodded. "I understand." He paused, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Uh, Ryan..." His voice trailed off; he rubbed his forehead. "You remember my telling you about my cousin?"

Ryan furrowed his eyebrows, then nodded. "The one who moved to Rome a couple of years ago?" He put his hands in his pockets as he spoke.

"Yes. With his wife. He's in the construction business—he moved to Rome because he thought there'd be better opportunities there." Ryan nodded. "Well, his father's family—my uncle's—escaped Yugoslavia with mine." David sighed. "I haven't heard from him in months, and I can't stop worrying about him. You haven't…?"

Ryan shook his head. "I've never even met the man, David."

David shrugged. "No, I suppose you haven't." He glanced at his watch. "Please excuse me. You must be exhausted after that trip, and I'm tired." He left the guest room.

Upon entering his bedroom, David lit a cigarette. Minutes passed as he leaned against the wall, shoulders slumped, cigarette dangling between his fingers, acrid smoke wafting in front of his face. Although his parents had told him and Deborah many stories about their escape from Communism, he had only vague memories of that perilous escape. He remembered his parents carrying him and baby Deborah toward some huge vehicle—was it a van? They had driven in silence, not speaking a word. He also remembered their stopping and tiptoeing through thick, tall grass toward an imposing fence. The last he remembered was an unearthly light in front of that fence. To that day, he could not remember what it was. He gazed at the dim outlines of his furniture for a long moment, then trudged toward his dresser.

Yawning, he trudged toward the bed and smashed the cigarette stub against the ashtray. Perching on the side of the bed, he pulled on his pajamas. "May as well say my prayers," he muttered. Grasping his soft woolen prayer shawl, he draped it around his shoulders. For the next several minutes, he prayed to Jehovah; at the end of his prayer session, he folded the shawl, put it on the bureau, and went to bed.

For the next few days, things were quiet and peaceful at the Weizmann house. When Deborah was alone with the Whittakers, she would talk about her newfound faith. "What the witnesses said got my attention," she said, once. "God really convicted me." She beamed. "I'm so grateful that God has removed the blindness from my spirit, and I pray he will remove it from David's."

They were sitting in the living room. Deborah perched on the edge of the cushioned armchair, and Ryan and Kristen sat side by side on the upholstered couch, china coffee mugs in their hands. Nicole lay on a folded blanket on the floor, and Jeremy was toddling from table to chair to table. Ryan watched his son for a long moment, then smiled back at Deborah. "I'm sure it was a joyful day for God, and for His angels, too." Kristen chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Deborah tilted her head, her brows furrowed in puzzlement.

"Only that we've had personal experience with angels," Kristen explained. "God has sent them to the Dalys and to us, more than once." She set her cup on the coffee table; it landed with a clink. The cushion lining the couch sagged under her as she leaned back.

Ryan nodded agreement. "In fact, He sent two angels to bring us here. They flew the small plane that brought us to Tel-Aviv." He took a sip of his now-cool coffee. "Someday, Deborah, we'll tell you about our other angelic encounters." The coffee cup clinked as he set it in its saucer.

Deborah smiled broadly. "What a privilege! I'd love to meet these angels." She glanced down at the Bible in her lap. "There are so many accounts in the Bible about angels and angelic encounters. But I have yet to meet one. I'd love to meet Gabriel, who took those messages to Daniel and who later announced the births of Yeshua and John to Mary and Zechariah."

The entrance door swung open; David stepped in. He glared at Deborah for a long moment, his face beet-red, then slammed the door. "Forgive me, Ryan, but I couldn't help overhearing your conversation." He approached his sister, who sat frozen. "I want to talk to you alone, Deborah!" He pointed at the hallway entrance with a trembling finger. 

**END OF CHAPTER 2 **

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	4. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

As David followed his sister to her bedroom, the rage he had felt on the day of the Whittakers' arrival surged in him now. He wanted to punish his sister, to make her pay for her decision. He did not want her there anymore, unless she renounced Jesus.

Deborah laid her leather-covered Bible on the dresser, then turned to face her brother. David glared at her for a long moment, while she stood stock-still, gazing at him. She did not say anything. At last, David hurled a china vase against the wall. It crashed against the wall, then landed in shards. Deborah flinched.

"That's it!" he yelled. "I've had it, Deborah! You have two choices: either you give up this Christian religion, or you leave this house and live elsewhere! The choice is your." He coughed, then slammed his fist on the bureau; the picture she kept there of herself and David landed on its back. "I mean it—I will not have this any longer!"

Deep sadness welling in her eyes, Deborah nodded. Yanking open the closet door, she dragged out her suitcase and set it on the bed. "I've been expecting this day for some time," she said. "I will leave." She paused. "But you will be in my prayers, David."

David marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Deborah leaned against the closet door, tears spilling over her cheeks. She pressed her nose against the door's smooth wooden surface.

"Help me!" she prayed. "Help me, God. I need a place to stay."

Taking a deep breath, she tried to think. Of course! The two witnesses could help her! She would go back to them and explain what happened, then seek their counsel. Surely, they'd know where she could go. With trembling fingers, she packed her clothes and a few other things, then left the house through the back entrance. As the door clicked softly behind her, she heard one of the babies crying. _David must have frightened them with his temper,_ she thought.

An hour later, she reached the Wailing Wall. Silently, as she clutched her suitcase and purse next to her, she prayed that God would give the witnesses an opening to speak His message to her. As usual, she found a crowd milling around. Overhead, the sun beat down on her scalp; drops of sweat rolled down her cheeks. "Hard to believe it would be this hot in March," she muttered.

"Where did they go?" a man shouted. "Think they turned into cowards and ran?"

"Good!" another shouted. "They should run—they know that everybody hates them! I wish they'd _die_!"

Deborah's suitcase handle slipped out of her now-sweaty fingers as horror surged in her heart. Her suitcase landed with a thud on the stone beneath her. The witnesses were gone! Where would she go? Who would take her in? "I have no bank account, Jehovah, and no gold," she whispered. "Help me! Please."

"He will, Deborah."

Deborah spun around to find a man with sandy-brown hair standing behind her. He wore a pair of jeans and a dark-brown T-shirt; caring and compassion radiated in his eyes. "What—who—?" she stammered.

"I'm an angel. My name is Andrew." He touched her shoulder. "God sent me to tell you that He has heard your prayer, and He will help you. He is pleased with your faith, Deborah, and He wants you to know that your prayers for your brother have been heard."

"That is right." A familiar voice startled her; she spun around to find Moishe approaching her, followed by Eli. Their bare, dirty feet slid smoothly on the stone tiles. "You trust in God; trust also in Jesus. He will provide, Deborah."

Andrew nodded agreement. "Come with me, and I'll take you to a place the Lord has prepared for you." He nodded at the witnesses, who inclined their heads in return.

Deborah gaped at the angel of death. "You're—you're an angel?" Her voice faltered; Andrew nodded. "I've prayed that God would allow me to see an angel!"

Chuckling, Andrew led her toward a cab. "God sends angels when there is need for them," he told her. "And you definitely have that need now." Removing a set of jangling keys from his pocket, he unlocked the door for Deborah, then slid into the driver's seat. The cushioned front passenger seat sagged slightly beneath her as she leaned against its back.

Andrew drove Deborah to a hotel in West Jerusalem. There, he found Tess perched behind a pine desk in the office. Deborah glanced at Andrew, then hung her head. "Forgive me, but I have no money. No bank account, and no gold." She sighed. "My brother threw me out before I had a chance to…"

"Don't worry about it, baby. This is on the house." Tess smiled at her puzzled expression. "Or, to put it another way, there will be no charge for your stay here. If you'll wait here, I'll have someone get you a key to your room."

Andrew smiled at Deborah. "I'll see you again soon." He left.

Deborah leaned against the desk, pressing her fingertips against the desk's smooth surface, waiting for Tess. _Thank You, God,_ she prayed. _You have indeed provided me with a place to stay._ She sighed. _Please get through to my brother!_

Days later, back in New York, Richard paced the living room floor, arms folded across his middle, his brown leather shoes softly thudding on the carpet. Periodically, he reached up to wipe his face as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. His latest attempt to call his brother-in-law, Ryan, had met with failure. In the hall, he could hear his wife praying for her brother. Their adopted daughter, Rachel, was in the backyard, shooting baskets. Richard had been teaching her to play basketball in recent months.

"Please, God," he heard Christina pray, "look after my brother and his family. If any danger has threatened them, please keep them safe." She paused. "And please make them contact me!"

"Amen," Richard muttered. Folding his arms across his chest, he shook his head. He'd been making similar prayers, but so far, they seemed to have bounced off the ceiling. Neither he nor Christina could stop worrying about Ryan and Kristen and the children. They hadn't heard from either of them in many days; their efforts to call them in Rome had been unsuccessful. He rubbed his hair, front to back, then sighed.

Setting his jaw and squaring his shoulders, he marched into the hallway to find his wife. Christina leaned against the wall, gazing down at the tufts of carpet flattened beneath her slippers. "Our prayers have gotten us nowhere this time. We've got to act," he told her. "I've got to get to Rome. I've got to find out what's happened to Ryan and Kristen and the babies. I can't just wait any longer—something may have happened to them."

Christina nodded agreement. "That's my fear, too." She touched her husband's arm. "Rachel and I are going with you."

Richard shook his head. "No, you're not! I'm going alone." Scowling, he folded his arms across his shoulders. "Ryan would call if he could—his silence tells me that something's happened. I want you and Rachel safe, Christina. You're staying behind." He glared at her as she pursed her lips, a sure sign she was about to argue with him. "Christina, think of Rachel! She needs you."

Christina frowned. "So does Ryan—he's my brother, don't forget." She paused, twisting a strand of hair around her index finger. "You also forget, Richard—the Great Tribulation is right around the corner. You could still be stuck there when it begins, and then you wouldn't be able to protect us. Rachel and I will be as safe with you as we would be here."

"Listen to your wife, Richard." A familiar Irish brogue startled Richard, and he whirled around to find Monica standing behind him, clasping her hands in front of her waist.

"Mo—Monica—!" He extended his hand. "This is a pleasure!"

"It sure is!" Beaming, Christina rushed toward the angel to hug her. "We haven't seen you in so long!"

Laughing, Monica embraced them both, then stepped back. Her face turned serious. "Christina is right, Richard—New York will be no safer than Rome when the second half of the Tribulation starts. God has plans for you three that make it necessary for you to go there now." She paused, a serious expression creasing her forehead. "Because you're right—Ryan does need you. Things are coming to a head. For everyone."

Richard nodded his acquiescence. "Monica, tell me. Do you have any idea where Ryan is?"

Monica nodded, her face sad. The pearl earrings dangling from her ears swayed back and forth. "Yes, but the Father has forbidden me to tell you where. Don't worry, he's safe. God will lead you to him when the time is right." She paused. "He wants you to go to Jerusalem, not Rome. And stay together, all three of you—you will be safer if you do."

Richard and Christina exchanged nods. "We will," Christina promised. "Please tell Ryan and Kristen we're on our way."

Christina was relieved. At least, her older brother was unharmed. Now that she knew Ryan was safe, she couldn't wait to see him again. She let out a deep sigh as she relaxed.

"I am so glad," she said. "Richard and I have been so worried!"

Putting an arm around his wife, Richard nodded agreement. "We've done our best to keep our worries from Rachel and to pray about them, but it's been hard."

Monica smiled, compassion radiating in her eyes. She touched Richard's arm, then Christina's. "The Father has them in His hands, Christina. He loves them, and He loves you." She vanished.

Christina turned toward the end of the hall. "I must get Rachel. We've got to pack."

"Yes. And I need to call Kennedy International Airport and arrange for their next flight to Israel." Richard strode toward their bedroom, where he made the phone call. When he had ordered three first-class plane tickets, he proceeded to pack a suitcase and trunk. Christina and Rachel did the same.

The flight to Tel Aviv went smoothly; when they arrived at Ben-Gurion Airport, Richard hired a cab to take them to Jerusalem. As soon as they pulled up in front of an imposing hotel, Richard gave the cab driver a tip above the requested fare.

"Well." Christina sighed, then put an arm around Rachel. "Now that we're here, where do we go?"

Richard looked up at the luxury hotel the cab had dropped them off at. "Let's get a room first, then decide."

Rachel smiled, as she fingered her rhinestone necklace. "I'm getting hungry." She scratched her forehead. She and her mother both slung their purses onto their shoulders. Rachel wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand.

"So are we, honey. Let's find a place to check in first, then we'll get something to eat." Richard patted her shoulder. "It's unusually hot here—I didn't expect to find it this warm in March in Israel." Rachel made a face.

As they approached the door, a man bumped into Rachel. "Excuse me! I wasn't watching where I was going." The man nodded toward the 15-year-old girl, then stood stock-still, rubbing his forehead; a scowl etched his face. He had light-brown hair, tanned skin, and a narrow nose. "You must be Americans." He immediately smoothed the scowl from his face.

Richard and Christina exchanged glances. "Yes, we are. We just arrived today."

The man put his hands in his pockets. A welcoming smile spread across his face, although a hard glint still appeared in his eyes. "So many Americans have come to visit our city since Puccini signed the peace treaty, three-and-a-half years ago. It's my pleasure to welcome you." He nodded toward Christina, then toward Rachel. "David Weizmann."

"Richard Daly." Richard extended his hand. "My wife Christina, and our daughter Rachel."

The man dropped his hand to his side; he gaped at Richard. "Richard Daly, you said?"

"Well—yes." Richard furrowed his eyebrows.

David shook his head, his eyes slowly widening. A beaming smile spread across his face as the glint in his eyes disappeared. "Forgive me—a friend of mine has told me about you! He's an American, too, and he worked for Puccini in Rome until very recently." He rubbed his fingers over the cleft in his chin as Richard and Christina exchanged stunned glances. 

**END OF CHAPTER 3 **

4


	5. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

Christina stared at David. Her mouth dropped open. "Uh, forgive us, sir, but what is his name?" She swallowed hard. "My brother works in Rome, and he and his family have disappeared. We're trying to find them." Her voice shook.

David smiled sadly. "I don't doubt you are." He paused. "His name is Ryan Whittaker." He lowered his voice. "He and his family are staying with me. Come with me, and I'll take you to them."

Christina beamed. "That is most kind of you. Thank you!"

Richard nodded agreement. _Thank You, God!_

Suddenly, a gleaming black limousine pulled up to the curb; to Richard's horror, Elijah Dayan stepped out, dressed in a gray polyester suit. _Please, God,_ Richard silently prayed, _don't let him see us._

Elijah stared hard at David. To Richard's relief, the man ignored the Dalys. "Weizmann! Come here."

Slumping his shoulders, David sighed. "Go ahead and check in. I'll take you to see them later." He nodded in Elijah's direction. "Duty calls."

As the Dalys watched him go, a familiar voice startled them. "I believe you three need a ride?"

Richard whirled; to his joy, Tess stood nearby. "Tess, of all—angels!" Laughing, he embraced her; Christina and Rachel followed suit.

Tess nodded toward her gleaming Cadillac convertible, parked nearby. "I'll take you to the Weizmann home. Come with me." She put a hand on Rachel's shoulder. "Rachel Nicole Daly, I can't believe how much you've grown! Last time I saw you, you were just a child. Now you're maturing into a lovely young woman!"

Rachel laughed. "Thanks. I'm 15 now." Tess hugged her. "Daddy's teaching me to play basketball." The young girl looked at her father, who chuckled and nodded.

The Dalys picked up their luggage and followed the heavy-set angel toward the red car. The air conditioning felt good on their skins as they admired the scenery whizzing past them. Half an hour later, they stopped in front of a two-story frame house. Ryan rushed out the door, followed by Kristen, joy etched on both faces. For the next few minutes, the two families shared hugs and greetings.

"I prayed that God would make a way to contact you," Ryan said, a few minutes later, in the living room. "I dared not call you after we escaped from Rome."

"Puccini was going to kill you?" Richard frowned.

"Yes. Kristen, too." Ryan sighed. "And he was going to take our children. He knows we're believers now, so he was determined to eliminate us." He shook his head. "And if it hadn't been for David, he might well have succeeded. We're safe for the moment, but we've got to remain in hiding." He rubbed his hands on his jeans.

"Of course." Christina smiled, then set her soft leather purse down on the coffee table. "We're here now, Ryan, and we'll be here for as long as you need us."

Ryan put his hands in his pockets. "I'd take you to see the babies, but they're asleep, now." Christina and Richard nodded. "By the way, how are the young people you took care of at the orphanage?"

"Last time we saw them, they were fine." Richard chuckled. "Christina, here, has been quite a mother to the orphaned young people our home church took in. That is, until they had to go into hiding, to escape the new world religion, that is." He shook his head at the memory, then gazed at his wife with proud eyes. "And she's a wonderful mother to our Rachel."

Christina blushed, poking him, yet a pleased gleam appeared in her eyes. "Rachel's a sweet girl. Always has been." She hugged her adopted daughter to her side. "And she's been maturing in her faith by leaps and bounds."

Rachel giggled. "Aw, Mom!" She looked away from her mother toward the beams of sunlight pouring through the front window. They made a rectangle of light on the carpet.

Laughing, Kristen nodded. "Well, if you three will excuse me, I'll make you something to eat. You must be hungry." She paused, sadness and disapproval welling up in her eyes. "Deborah should have been here to do it, but David threw her out." She left the living room, shaking her head, as the visitors took their seats.

Richard and Christina exchanged frowns. "Threw her out?" Richard asked his brother-in-law.

Ryan grimaced, then sighed. "Yes. I'll tell you about it while Kristen fixes our meal." The mattress sagged and creaked as he shifted position on the armchair and leaned forward.

"You ready, Miss Wings?"

Tess folded her arms across her chest as she gazed at the angel under her charge. Monica nodded, then glanced at the full moon overhead shedding its soft beams on the city below. "I am. But where are Andrew and Gloria?"

"Right here." Andrew appeared with Gloria at Tess's side. "We'd better be on our way."

"Yes, we had. Let's go." Tess pointed in the direction of the Wailing Wall.

The supervisor angel led the way down the mostly-deserted sidewalk, followed by the other three angels. Their shoes clicked on the concrete underneath. Silently, she prayed that God would use the conference to give them the guidance they needed to get through to David. She couldn't stand the thought of David resisting the truth another day, nor did she want the two Weizmanns to be separated any longer than they just had to be. She could not act, of course, until the Father told her to; until then, all she could do was befriend Deborah and give her a place to stay. But that didn't mean she couldn't pray and consult with the others in the meantime.

A minute later, they found themselves at their destination—the Wailing Wall. In the far corner, the two witnesses crouched against the stone lichen-covered wall, heads slumped. Soft snores reached Tess's keen ears.

"Moses! Elijah!" Tess's imperious tone rang out across the area. "Wake up!"

The two witnesses leaped to their feet, then approached the angels. "Hello, Tess. We meet again." Moses inclined his head in greeting. Elijah raised his bony hand.

"Hello." Andrew smiled.

"It's a pleasure to see you again." Gloria beamed. "I've been following your work ever since we met less than three-and-a-half years ago." She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

Moses nodded. "And we've been following yours, Gloria. Tess sometimes tells us about your assignments and Monica's when she comes here."

Tess raised her hands. "Well, we're not here to catch up on old times, but to discuss an assignment the Father has given us." She wagged her finger as she spoke.

Elijah nodded. "David Weizmann."

"Yes." Pursing her lips, Tess put her hands on her hips. She glared at the others, looking from angel to angel, then from Moses to Elijah. A cool night breeze caressed her cheeks and ruffled her hair. Overhead, stars dotted the velvet sky.

"Time is running out," she added. "God wants you two to help us in this assignment, and you've got only a short time to do it. If we don't do our job, David will be lost eternally. As it is, he's in danger of losing his sister because he threw her out." She sighed. "We must pray for guidance. Miss Wings, you lead off—Moses, you pray next! I'll pray last."

Monica bowed her head. "Father, there is a man who's lost, hurting, and he doesn't even know it." She swallowed. "He's blinded by his hatred for Your Son. Please cleanse him of his hate, and open his eyes to Your love. To the truth." Her voice faltered. Tess squeezed her shoulder.

One by one, Moses, Elijah, then the three remaining angels prayed for David and Deborah. Folding her arms across her chest, Tess prayed last. "Father, get through David's thick skull before it's too late." Irritation tinged her voice, the same irritation that had been building up in her since she'd taken Deborah in.

"Amen," Elijah added.

Everyone raised their heads. "We will do all we can," Moses said. "We must still preach to the people, though, until our time comes."

"I know." Tess patted his arm. "And you just keep doing so until that day comes. But the Father wants you to help us with our assignment as well."

Andrew nodded, then looked from Moses to Elijah. "Adam and I will escort you Home, when that day comes. You will not be alone." He put his hands in his pockets as he spoke.

"No." Elijah exchanged glances with his colleague. "The Father is with us, as He has been from the beginning."

Tess nodded agreement. "And now, we angels must leave. It will soon be midnight, and you're about to have visitors. But we will be back." She and the other angels disappeared. 

**END OF CHAPTER 4 **

3


	6. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

Minutes later, the Dalys approached the Wailing Wall, silent and devoid of people. Ryan and Kristen crept on their heels, carrying their babies.

"Please, God," Christina whispered, "do something about David before it's too late." She could only hope that the witnesses would be able to give them sound counsel. A man's soul was at stake, as was his relationship with his sister.

Richard paused, then nodded toward the two witnesses, backs ramrod-straight and shoulders squared, watching them with a steady gaze. "It looks as if they're expecting us." Rachel hung back, fear in her eyes.

"Then we mustn't keep them waiting." Ryan chuckled, then patted Rachel's shoulder, coaxing a smile onto her face. "Come on, let's go. They won't hurt you, Rachel; they know you're a child of God. Here, take Nicole, would you? She's getting heavy."

Rachel swallowed. "Yes, sir." She accepted the squirming baby from her uncle and cradled Nicole against her shoulder.

The group approached the two witnesses, who stood stock-still, not making a sound. Their shoes clicked on the rectangular stone tiles as they scurried toward the two preachers. When Moishe and Eli were five feet away, Moishe raised his hand to halt them. Silently, the visitors came to a stop. The witnesses approached till they were just two feet away from their visitors. The scent of ashes wafted toward Richard's nose as the two preachers faced the five American tourists.

"God will make a way into the man's heart," Moishe announced. "Love him; pray for him."

"Do as they say." Tess appeared near them, bathed in Heavenly light. "They speak God's own words to you. That's what David needs right now. And pray for Deborah, too."

The witnesses nodded, then returned to their spot at the corner of the Wailing Wall. Knowing that Moishe and Eli had no more to say, the Dalys and the Whittakers returned to David's house, escorted by Tess. "I will see you tomorrow," she promised them.

The next morning, after breakfast, David announced that Elijah Dayan had a big job for him. "He wants me to help him and Puccini find a way to get to the—the madmen." He paused to strike a match against its box, then to hold its flame to a cigarette. He took a long puff, then continued. "Since I've spent so much time at the Wailing Wall myself, I've come to know the area quite well. I'm to help Puccini find a suitable spot from which to kill them." He smiled, yet a hard light gleamed in his eyes. "I will be glad to see them dead! I hate them!"

He paced the living room back and forth, his shoes making soft thuds in the carpet, cigarette smoke gradually filling the living room with its acrid smell. Christina winced, then waved her hand to ward off the smoke. Exchanging worried glances with Richard, she slowly approached David and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Please, David," she said softly, "don't do this. Puccini is plotting murder, and you don't need to be involved in such a plot."

"You sure don't," Ryan agreed. "When the time comes, they will only be dead for a few days anyway, David. Then God will resurrect them and call back to Heaven. In full view of everybody."

"Shut up!" David glared at him, then at the others. "Don't tell me any more fables from your Christian Bible! When Puccini is done, those two will not torment us anymore. That is all that matters. No more plagues, no more drought, no more water turning to blood, and no more people being incinerated by fire. And no more of that repulsive _heresy_ they preach!"

His face turned beet-red; he smashed the cigarette against a nearby plastic ash tray, then picked up his prayer shawl and draped it around his shoulders. "I mean it. No more!" He stormed out the front door, slamming it behind him.

"Don't worry." Tess materialized in the Weizmann living room. "Just remember, God is in control. He is working on David, although you can't see it yet. Just keep loving him and praying for him, as Moses and Elijah told you to do. God will do the rest."

With a weary sigh, Christina nodded. "We're all so worried about David." She bit her lower lip. "If he's capable of throwing his own sister out of their house, there's no telling how he'll react to us if we try to dissuade him any further. He could get himself killed, doing this."

Tess perched on the armchair beside her. The mattress sagged underneath as she leaned forward, eyes fixed on Christina's face. "Baby, you're not going to like hearing this, but this time, Puccini will succeed." She looked from person to person, as deep pain etched their faces. "Their time is up, and the Book of Revelation has forecast their murder. But it also forecasts their resurrection, three-and-a-half days later. Then God will call them back up to Heaven."

Richard nodded. "When is it going to happen?"

"Very soon." Tess rose to her feet. "All you can do, now, is pray for David and for his sister."

"Is that what God wants me to do, too?" Rachel scratched her neck.

Tess approached her, a warm light in her eyes. "Baby, that's what God wants _all_ of you to do." Rachel nodded acquiescence. Tess patted her shoulder, then vanished.

A few days later, Richard called a meeting of the two families. "I think it's time we found another place to stay." He gazed at the early-morning sun pouring through the living-room window. David had already left for work 15 minutes earlier; the faint scent of cigarette smoke still hung in the air. David hadn't exchanged over five words with Richard as the two had gotten dressed. Nor had he treated the guests with the same friendly courtesy since their confrontation a few days before. The early-morning sunlight poured golden beams through the living-room window. "David's going to kill himself with those cigarettes," he muttered, scowling.

"He sure is." Ryan nodded agreement. "And I agree. For the last two days, I've sensed that David's not so happy to have us here as he was in the beginning. Guess our attempts to persuade him not to help Puccini set up the murder didn't sit too well with him." He smiled wryly. "He knows we're in complete sympathy with his sister. And he doesn't like it one bit."

"Neither does he like it that we don't approve of what he's helping Puccini to get ready to do," Kristen added.

Rachel screwed her face. "But where will we go?" She cradled her teen study Bible in her lap. She'd been reading it when her mother called her into the living room a few minutes before. She pressed the palm of her left hand against the soft cushion underneath; it sank beneath her hand's pressure.

Christina touched her arm. "We'll just have to go to a hotel, sweetheart. For now, anyway."

"And after that, we're going to have to make more permanent arrangements," Richard added. "I have a feeling we won't be going back to New York anytime soon."

Ryan sighed. "No, and neither will my family be returning to Rome. The day we left for Israel, I took the liberty of purchasing some gold from a friend of mine before Puccini had a chance to freeze our account. I dared not spend all of our bank account on gold, lest he become suspicious."

"Wise move, Ryan." Richard glanced at his wife, then back at Ryan. "Our bank accounts won't do us much good for long, anyway. Our gold may not, either. Once the mark is set up, we're going to be forced to trust the Lord just for survival." He folded his arms across his chest, shaking his head.

"Where will we go?" Rachel asked again, scratching her forehead. She dug the toes of her slippers into the thick tufts of carpet underneath.

Ryan leaned back in the armchair. "I suggest we find out where Deborah is staying, and go there." He smiled. "She'd love to have us for moral support, I'm sure."

Christina chuckled. "That won't be hard, Ryan. Tess told me, the other day, where she was staying." She paused. "In fact, she suggested that we might want to consider staying there, too."

Richard rose to his feet. "Come on, then. Let's pack our things and go there. I'll leave a note for David."

"Spread the map over my desk, David." Elijah opened the drapes covering the office window.

Nodding David unrolled the map of the Wailing Wall and spread it over his employer's mahogany desk. For five minutes, the two men peered over it silently.

"Look at this spot." David pointed to a corner of the Wailing Wall. "The preachers usually do their preaching over here, with their backs toward that side of the wall." He glanced at Dayan, who nodded. "If a sniper were to hide on that corner of the roof, he could easily take care of the two men with a high-powered rifle."

Elijah nodded. "Then let's do it! Today." He patted David's arm. "I'll take over from here; you've done your job. Thank you, and _shalom_." He reached into his inside jacket pocket and drew out a cigarette. "For your trouble." He handed the cigarette to David.

David beamed his thanks, then nodded. "Shall I leave you the map?" Dayan nodded.

As David left Dayan's office, satisfaction surged in his heart. _This will be a day always remembered,_ he thought, smiling. _The world will be rid of those two men, at last!_ Unknown to him, an invisible Tess watched him go, disapproval etched on her face. Raising her face toward the ceiling, she shook her head.

Meanwhile, back at the hotel Tess ran, Deborah knelt by her bed, praying. She hadn't been able to stop worrying, despite her best efforts to turn the whole matter over to the Lord. She had recently heard that her brother was helping his employer, Dayan, make plans for the murder of Moishe and Eli; he might be helping Dayan this very day. That could only get him killed if he took part, she feared. She hated feeling so helpless to save him, to reach him, to do anything except pray.

Rising to her feet, she wiped her face, then approached the wall. Taking a deep breath, she laid trembling hands on the smooth, cool surface of her mahogany nightstand, and lowered her head.

"Please, God," she said, "don't let my brother do this! Don't let David take part in this wicked plot. Please get through to him. He's deceived, Jehovah—he doesn't know who Your Son is. Please open his heart. In Yeshua's name, amen."

"He will, Deborah." 

**END OF CHAPTER 5 **

3


	7. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

Deborah turned to find Andrew standing beside the bed. "Hello, Andrew." She forced a smile on her face. _"Shalom."_

"And _shalom_ to you." Andrew approached her. "God sees the concern and fear in your heart, and He wants you to remember that it's all in His hands. He's working on your brother, even as I speak."

A grateful smile crept across Deborah's face. "Then this murder plot won't succeed?"

Deep sadness welled up in Andrew's eyes. Inserting his hands into his pockets, he sighed. "I'm afraid it will, this time, Deborah," he said, slowly. "Their time is up, today. Puccini is here—he just arrived this morning. Your brother has already helped his boss, Dayan, make their plans. Puccini is going to kill them."

"No!" Deborah screamed. "Please, God, _no_!" Shock surged through her heart. She had to stop her brother! She couldn't allow the two witnesses to be murdered. Grabbing her purse, she rushed out the door; it slammed behind her. She took the stairs two at a time, then darted out the front door of the hotel.

"I've got to stop him! I can't let him do this!" She choked back a sob. "Please, God," she shrieked, "stop my brother from helping Puccini kill them!"

A distant gunshot startled her. _"No!"_ she screamed. "Please, no! Don't let them die!"

Meanwhile, at the Wailing Wall, the two witnesses lay on the cold stone tiles, gasping for breath. Blood gushed out of their sides, forming spreading pools. Puccini watched from the far corner on the roof of the Wailing Wall, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Tell your man I thank him, for the help he gave us," he told Dayan. "This was indeed an excellent spot for an ambush."

Dayan nodded, a pleased gleam in his own eyes. "I will, Excellency." He glanced at the wisps of clouds drifting overhead, then climbed down the ladder. Puccini followed him. The two climbed into a limousine and left the Wailing Wall.

As the two dying witnesses lay writhing, two pools of blood spreading from their sides, Andrew and Adam appeared next to them. Beams of Heavenly light illuminated and poured off the two angels of death's beige suits.

"Hello, Moses." Andrew knelt at Moishe's side. "God has sent me here to take you Home." He rested his hands on the cold stone tiles as he spoke.

"And I'm taking you Home, Elijah." Adam touched Eli's bony shoulder. "The Father tells us He's quite proud of you. Of both of you. You have carried out your assignments well."

Andrew nodded agreement. Too weak to speak, Moses nodded his thanks. In the next moment, he found himself next to a now-standing Andrew, gazing down at his now-lifeless body and waiting for Eli to join him. A few seconds later, Elijah's own spirit left his body and joined Moses. Adam flanked him.

"Come on." Andrew gestured skyward. "You bodies will be restored to you in three-and-a-half days, but for now, the Father wishes to reward you gentlemen for a job well-done."

Followed by a snow-white dove, circling overhead and cooing softly, the two angels strolled down the pavement with the spirits of the two witnesses until all four disappeared from sight. At the same time, Tess, Monica, and Gloria stood in a nearby alley. Worried frowns creased their foreheads.

"We must stop Deborah," Monica said. "If she shows up at the Wailing Wall now, Puccini and Dayan will target her." She scratched her arm.

"No, they won't. Puccini and Dayan left a few minutes ago. But their henchmen are still on the scene, and they will recognize Deborah." Tess glanced toward a group of men gathered next to the Wailing Wall. "You go find her, Miss Wings." Tess turned to Gloria. "And baby, you stay with me."

A few seconds later, Monica found Deborah on a back street fifty feet from the Wailing Wall. Her breath came in gasps and her shoes clicked on the pavement. Deborah stopped just short of colliding with the angel.

"It's too late, Deborah!" Monica grabbed the frantic young woman's shoulder. "It's too late to stop them now. Moishe and Eli are dead."

Deborah gaped at her, grief surging in her heart. She clutched the purse to her waist with one hand and wiped her sweaty face with the other. "Who—who are you?"

"An angel. Sent by God." Monica smiled at her, tenderness etched on her face. "Be not afraid."

"Like—like Andrew?" Deborah stared at her. Monica nodded.

Deborah leaned against the brick wall, trying to catch her breath. A low moan escaped from her throat. "What has my brother done?!" She shook her head, gazing down at the pavement. Her breaths came out more slowly and evenly.

Monica embraced her, then stepped back. "Nothing that God cannot forgive him for, even now. But he must seek God's mercy and His forgiveness." She touched Deborah's shoulder. "Come, let's go back to the hotel where you're staying."

Monica walked her back to the hotel, where they found the Dalys and the Whittakers in the lobby. Richard, she noticed, was using his debit card to pay for the rooms they would stay in for the rest of their Israeli visit. "You must be Deborah Weizmann." Christina approached her. "My name is Christina Daly. Ryan told us about you." She slumped her shoulders. "You've heard?"

Deborah bit her lower lip. "Yes," she said. "They've killed Moishe and Eli." Christina nodded, sighing.

Ryan approached her, his shoes making soft thuds on the thick carpet. "Why don't you call your brother, Deborah? He hasn't heard from you in days; he might be relieved to know you're safe."

Deborah shook her head. "Not now. Not yet. He doesn't want to hear from me, and besides, it wouldn't be safe to call him now." She sighed. "I'll wait till it is safe." She choked down a sob.

Tess jangled a ring of keys in her right hand. "Come with me, and I'll take you to your rooms. I'm having tea and pastries sent to your rooms." She turned to Deborah. "Your room is next to the Whittakers. And Richard, yours is on the other side of Ryan's and Kristen's." She paused, frowning. "Richard, you won't be able to use that debit card much longer. Soon, an implant will be required instead. So use that card to purchase some gold, as Ryan has done. I know someone here in Israel who will be glad to sell you some."

Richard exchanged glances with his wife, then nodded acquiescence. "I will, Tess."

Ryan and Kristen exchanged chuckles, covering their mouths so as to not let Tess hear. "She's certainly efficient and hospitable. And no-nonsense," Ryan whispered. Kristen nodded agreement. Grief surged in Ryan's heart in the next moment. How he missed the witnesses! 

**END OF CHAPTER 6 **

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	8. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

For the next three days, the Dalys, the Whittakers, and Deborah stayed in their hotel rooms. They discussed incessantly their experiences with Moishe and Eli. Richard and Ryan took turns sharing their first time seeing the two lampstands in person, shortly after the marriage of Ryan and Kristen. Deborah spoke of the numerous times she had visited the witnesses at the Wailing Wall, and the days when they'd begun to counsel her about her brother.

"Yes, it was dangerous to make those midnight visits," she admitted. "But it was the only time of day I could talk with them in private. There was always a crowd in front of them during the day." She rubbed her eyes, then glanced down at her Bible resting on the dresser next to Christina's and Rachel's. As she shifted position on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagged and creaked beneath her.

Christina nodded. "Yes. And some did heed their message and turn to Jesus for salvation." She sighed. "But—the vast majority…" She shook her head.

Part of the time, they watched CNN, but had no stomach for it. All over the world, they knew, the networks were running wall-to-wall coverage of the witnesses' deaths. Thus far, Puccini was refusing to allow their burial, so their bodies lay decomposing on the blood-stained, stone-covered spot where they had been shot. CNN and the other news networks showed their bodies worldwide over and over.

Commentators were droning on and on about the misery Moishe and Eli had brought to the world, and to Israel in particular. One anchorman said, "It is the winter holidays all over again, as people hold parties and exchange presents. Only yesterday, Elijah Dayan and his relatives exchanged an abundance of gifts. And all over the world, people are holding similar celebrations." Glee rang from his voice; a pleased expression etched his face.

Richard curled his upper lip in disgust. "Well, Revelation predicted this would happen," he muttered. "This is nothing to celebrate! Why can't the blind fools realize that?" He leaned his elbow on the window ledge, as he glanced out at the crowds on the street below.

Andrew, who had stopped to visit, nodded agreement. "They are blind." He shook his head, then smiled. "Don't despair, though. The Book of Revelation also predicts their resurrection." He put his hand on Richard's arm.

Richard nodded in return. "Yes. It does."

Rachel glared at the TV set. "I wish Mr. Puccini would let them be buried! It's mean, leaving them out like that."

Kristen shook her head, cradling Nicole in her arms. Jeremy perched at her feet, playing with a wooden block. "I agree, Rachel." She shook her head. "The wickedness of so many people." She sighed. Ryan patted her arm as he pursed his lower lip.

On the late afternoon of the third day, Richard rose to his feet following a lengthy prayer session. He and the others had knelt for the past hour on the thick carpet spanning the room. "Any time now, the witnesses should be resurrected," he announced. "I don't know about you, but I want to be there to see it." He glanced at his watch as he spoke.

Christina leaped to her feet. "So do I!"

"Me, too." Rachel stood up.

The others followed suit; Ryan and Kristen picked up the babies. "Let's go, then!" Ryan urged. "We'll take the kids with us." He turned to Deborah. "Would you like to come with us?"

Deborah smiled, then shook her head. "Not yet. You go on ahead." She rubbed her face. "I'll come later."

"Don't wait too long," Ryan warned. "We don't know just when God plans to resurrect Moishe and Eli."

Christina slid her watch onto her wrist, then grabbed her purse and handed Rachel hers. Hurrying out the hotel's front entrance, the two families hurried down one street, then another, not wanting to miss that event. Rachel trailed behind her mother, looking at the stores that lined each side. _I wonder..._ she thought.

She paused as they passed a gift shop. Pressing her nose against the windowpane, she gazed at the rows of trinkets on their display shelves. When she turned around to catch up to the others, to her horror, they had disappeared! She looked up and down the street for her parents as panic surged in her breast.

_They went off without me!_ she thought. She took a deep breath to calm herself. _It's OK. I know where they're going. I'll stop here and look around a little, then I'll catch up. Maybe I'll buy something!_ She glanced down at her purse.

Pushing the glass door open, she entered the store. A bell tinkled above her. Soft Israeli folk music played in the background as she approached the nearest row of shelves. A black-haired woman stood with her back to the girl as Rachel admired a gold jewelry box.

Suddenly, the woman turned around; Rachel hopped back, startled. "Miss Weizmann! I thought you stayed behind."

"I did." Deborah sighed. "Then I decided I really didn't want to stay alone in my hotel room, so I decided to leave. I'm on my way to the Wailing Wall, too, but I decided to stop on the way to get a present for my brother." She sighed. "Maybe a gift will soften his heart. It will be his birthday soon." She looked at the gleaming china statuettes lining the shelf next to her. "Tess has loaned me some gold-I'm hoping the manager of this store can be persuaded to accept some, since I don't have a bank account. I didn't have the chance to borrow any from David before he threw me out."

Rachel bit her lower lip. "It must be awful, having him mad at you like that." She reached up to scratch her cheek.

Sadness creased the woman's forehead. "It is, Rachel," she agreed. "It hurts more deeply than anything I can imagine, unless it's hearing that he had a part in Moishe and Eli's murder. I can only trust, as the angels have said, that God is working on his heart and that He has everything under control. As Andrew said, their murder was foretold."

Rachel nodded. What Deborah had just said was true. "I'm going to look around."

"Where are your parents?" Deborah pivoted to scan the store. "They didn't come in with you, I see."

"I—uh, we got separated." Rachel's voice faltered. "I stopped to look in the window, and they went on. I know where they're going, though—I can catch up. I'll join them at the Wailing Wall."

Deborah nodded. "Don't keep them waiting too long. Give me a few moments to find something for my brother, then we'll go to the Wailing Wall together."

Nodding acquiescence, Rachel wandered toward the back to examine the displays there. A counter ran the length of the back of the store, stopping just short of the back door. Fifteen feet from the back, a partition ran along half the building, partly dividing the back from the front area. Rachel smiled at the rows of collectors' dolls wearing traditional Israeli costumes.

_They are so pretty! I wonder if Mom would buy me one?_ She glanced down at her purse as she spoke. _Wish I had the money to buy one! Unfortunately, my bank account is low, so I can't. They are so pretty. They'd look so nice on my dresser!_

Recent painful memories arose in her head, and she sighed. For the last few days, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about the witnesses. She missed them so much—their authoritative voices as they preached, their bony hands, the smoky smell that always hung around them. It was so hard to believe that they were dead. It wasn't fair! She grimaced.

Meanwhile, her parents and her aunt and uncle, who had yet to notice her disappearance, arrived at the spot where the witnesses lay dead. Their faces were discolored, their bodies misshapen. Christina choked back tears as she gazed down at their mangled, decaying bodies. The blood had long since dried on the stone tiles. Each person held his nose to keep out the overpowering scent of decay.

"The poor men!" Christina whispered. "Why did Puccini have to do this to them, anyway?"

"Shh!" Richard's breath caught. "Look, Christina!" He gaped down at the bodies; following his gaze, Christina did the same.

In that moment, Moses took a deep breath; Elijah did the same. The latter blinked, then opened his eyes. A few seconds later, Moses followed suit. Silence descended on the assembled crowd as the onlookers gaped in shock. The Dalys and Whittakers released their noses, dropping their arms to their sides.

The two witnesses raised their hands, then pulled themselves into sitting positions. Slowly, they rose to their bare feet. They gazed at the crowd with a mixture of anger and sadness, then at the Dalys and Whittakers with approval in their eyes. "Bah!" little Jeremy shouted, waving both hands. Moishe raised his bony hand toward the two-year-old boy. Once more, the scent of ashes wafted toward Christina's nose.

A thunderous shout prompted Christina to cover her ears. _"Come up here!"_ an unearthly voice shouted. In the next instant, Moishe and Eli rose into the air. Cries of horror burst forth from the mouths of the onlookers. David, hiding behind a corner of the wall, gaped in horror. His prayer shawl adorned his shoulders; he had gone to the Wailing Wall to pray an hour earlier.

"No!" he whispered. "It can't be!" His body quivered, as the warnings of Christina and Ryan surged into his brain. "It can't be true! It cannot!"

Meanwhile, back at the gift store, Deborah and Rachel, who had just heard the shout, rushed outside with the other shoppers and the store employees. While they gazed upward, the two witnesses became smaller as they rose yet higher, until they were mere specks. A few seconds later, they disappeared from view. Deborah beamed, craning her neck to watch them go. Rachel stood on tiptoe to get a better look.

The plump Israeli woman and the young American teenager cheered as they rushed inside. "Thank You, God!" Deborah whispered in a choked voice; the two embraced each other. "You predicted You'd raise them back to life, and You have!"

"Amen!" Rachel said.

Deborah glanced at her watch. "I must hurry—I still want to buy a gift for my brother." She grimaced. "I hope the cashier and manager come back in soon, so I can make my purchase and leave!" She glared at the cash register, standing unattended on its counter. So far, no one else had re-entered the gift shop.

"I'll go to the back and look around." Rachel smiled. "They have some real pretty collector's dolls back there!"

"I'll call you when I'm ready," Deborah told her. "We must hurry if we're to rejoin the others."

Rachel departed for the back of the store; Deborah returned to the row of shelves featuring the statuettes. For the next few minutes, she ran her fingers over the smooth surfaces of several figurines. Suddenly, the floor began to shake beneath her; objects slid off their shelves. "Oh!" she cried. "There's something else the Book of Revelation predicted—an earthquake! How could I have forgotten about that?!"

Screaming, she rushed toward the front entrance; in that instant, the ceiling caved in on her. Meanwhile, in the back of the store, Rachel stumbled toward the counter and huddled underneath. Minutes passed as the building crashed behind her; distant terrified screams reached her ears from the streets. She covered her head with both arms. _Miss Weizmann!_ she thought. _Please, God, don't let her get hurt!_

Unknown to her, Andrew stood, holding the counter up to keep it from collapsing on Rachel. "Don't be frightened, Rachel," he said softly. "God is with you, and He will take good care of you. Deborah, too."

Rachel couldn't hear the angel's voice, but an unexpected calm flowed through her heart. _Is this what Jesus meant when He said, "My peace I give you, not as the world gives"?_ she silently wondered. _Even when things are scary like this?_ She banged her head against the top of the counter; pain exploded in her head. "Ow!" she cried, clutching her scalp.

The violent shaking went on and on. _How much longer?_ she silently screamed. _Please, God, make it stop!_ Trembling, the young girl remained crouched under the counter and scrooged her eyes shut. In that instant, the lights went out. Darkness enveloped the store. 

**END OF CHAPTER 7 **

4


	9. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

"_Noo!"_ David rushed into the middle of the heaving, buckling street; as the earthquake knocked him off his feet, he threw himself into a prone position, covering his head. _God of my fathers,_ he silently prayed, _save me! Don't let this earthquake kill me!_ He pulled his prayer shawl over the back of his head, then pressed his arms over it.

Meanwhile, Richard stumbled as he clasped his wife to his chest, striving to brace her. They had already left the Wailing Wall and started down a nearby street when the shaking started. Ryan and Kristen leaned against each other, each holding a baby. "God," Ryan muttered through clenched teeth, "if this is our time, enable us to face death with courage! But if You still have work for us to do, please keep us alive through this!"

"Amen," Kristen added, gritting her teeth. In that instant, the earthquake knocked them off their feet; Ryan and Kristen twisted their bodies to land on their backs. Neither one let go of the baby in his or her arms. The hard concrete sent shockwaves through their bodies as they landed on it.

All around them, buildings crashed, toppled over; cracks formed in the street, followed by slabs of concrete facing upward. Water spewed several feet into the air where fire hydrants fell on their sides. Up and down the street, terrified screams echoed in their ears. A few minutes later, the violent shaking stopped. The screams halted, but Jeremy and Nicole wailed. Ryan and Kristen proceeded to soothe them.

"Let's not move yet," Richard ordered. "This quake is over, but there may be aftershocks. Let's stay right here till we know it's safe." Raising his head, he shook it, then lay his arms at his sides. "Look at all this rubble! And it's so hot, too."

He wiped his perspiring forehead with the back of his hand. "There will be many people trapped inside the rubble; some of them will die before help can reach them. And thousands who have already died." He looked at the rows of demolished buildings lining both sides of the street.

"Yes." Ryan nodded agreement. "There will be a total of seven thousand casualties, to be exact. And a tenth of the city destroyed." He wiped his sweaty face with the back of his hand. "No telling how many who've been injured. Or trapped."

Christina gasped. She pushed herself up on her elbows to stare at everyone. As she looked from person to person, a moan escaped from her throat, then she pulled herself up to her knees. "Rachel!" she cried. "Where is Rachel?"

Pushing themselves into sitting positions, the others looked up and down the street. "She's gone," Kristen said. "She must have gotten separated from us while we were coming here."

"_Rachel!"_ Christina screamed. 'Where are you?!"

She was frantic. Rachel might have been killed in the earthquake! Or she might be trapped somewhere, seriously injured. Without a word, Christina leaped to her feet and stumbled down the torn-up street, picking her way over some rubble, brushing her hair out of her eyes, wiping beads of sweat off her forehead, pivoting this way and that. "Rachel!"

A hand gripped her shoulder, then spun her around. Richard's worried eyes gazed into hers as he clutched her arms. "Christina! We've got to stay together! We will find Rachel, never fear, but we must not split up. Remember, those were Monica's orders."

Before Christina, gasping for breath, could respond, he pulled her into a tight embrace. Silently, she prayed that God would help them find their daughter and that she would be all right. _Please, God, don't let her die!_

"Come on." Richard gestured to the others as they approached. "Let's go. Don't worry, honey, we'll find her!"

Meanwhile, back at the demolished store, Rachel, clutching her now-bruised arm, slowly crept out from under the counter, wincing as she crawled on pieces of shattered linoleum tiles. The shaking had stopped only a few minutes before. As she scrambled to her feet, she scanned the store, clutching her purse to her side. For a long moment, she stood stock-still, trying to get her bearings. The earthquake had knocked out the electricity; she could see only the barest of outlines.

Slowly, she approached the front, only to find herself blocked by a wall of debris. The partition that had divided the back of the store from the front had tumbled; the whole ceiling had fallen right behind it. Rachel just managed to see the outlines of the pieces of debris blocking her from the front entrance.

"The back's blocked, too," she muttered. Rachel was trapped. She could not leave the store. A gasp escaped from her mouth as she remembered.

"Miss Weizmann!" she yelled. "Are you here?"

No answer.

"Miss Weizmann?" she shrieked. "It's Rachel—Rachel Daly! Can you hear me?"

Still no answer. Sobbing, Rachel dropped her purse and stumbled toward the wood-and-plaster debris blocking her from the entrance. She tried to tear a hole through it that she'd be able to crawl through. After several minutes of futile effort, she slid to the floor, moaning. She winced as pieces of tile dug through her jeans and pressed into her hips.

"I can't get to her," she said. "I can't get out, myself!"

Rachel had never felt so helpless in her life, not since she had returned to her original home to find her real mother murdered. Not only could she not dig her way out of the rubble of this store, to save herself, neither could she do anything to help Deborah Weizmann. She couldn't even give the woman first-aid. She hated that.

"Miss Weizmann may be dying, and I can't even help her!" Rachel choked back a sob. "I can't help myself, either. I might die here, too!"

Unwanted, unbidden sobs tore out of her throat. She rested her face on her knees and cried. "Please, God, help us!" she said, her voice choking. "Please don't let us die!" She bent over, heaving with sobs.

Back in the vicinity of the Wailing Wall, her frantic parents and the Whittakers carefully picked their way through the rubble of the street. Suddenly, a man yelled, "Ryan! Stop!"

The group halted, then whirled around. A disheveled David Weizmann was carefully making his way through the concrete rubble, panting, his prayer shawl askew, beads of sweat rolling down his face. When he caught up, his breath came out in gasps.

"I just—barely—escaped death," he panted. "And now, I must—find my sister! She's out in this somewhere." He shook his head violently. "What have I done, throwing her out? She could be dead now, and I'd never know!"

Taking a deep breath, Richard touched his arm. "Our Rachel's missing, too." He bit his lower lip and he and his wife exchanged glances. "We'll just have to look for them both." The others nodded agreement.

Ryan approached David. "Before we look, though, let's pray together," he said gently. "We'll need God's help to find them, since only He knows where they are." He looked from David to Richard.

David nodded agreement. 'You're right. All we can do is follow His leading." He straightened his prayer shawl as he spoke.

As the group bowed their heads, Ryan prayed that God would protect Rachel and Deborah, and that He would lead them to the two. They proceeded to mince down the broken street, carefully stepping over or around concrete shards. Moans reached their ears from all over; stunned, shell-shocked people trudged everywhere. Ryan and Kristen cradled the babies against their shoulders, arms wrapped around them protectively. Christina's soft leather purse hung from her left shoulder.

David sighed as he trotted next to Ryan. "Please, God, protect my sister," he implored, gazing up at the sky.

Unknown to him, two angels watched them leave. "I wish we could give him good news," Andrew said, sadness in his eyes. "But the Father has already told me I'll soon be taking Deborah Home."

Tess nodded agreement. Her brooch sparkled in the sunlight. "It may be a different story for Rachel, though. God is going to send Monica to comfort Rachel, as she waits. She's feeling quite helpless because she can neither escape, herself, nor help Deborah. And she's frightened." She raised her head. "Please, Father, help those two!" 

**END OF CHAPTER 8 **

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	10. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

As the tourists and the Israeli approached a corner, an imperious voice startled them. "David! Stop!"

Again, the group halted. A brown-haired man wearing a dark-blue suit approached them from across the street. "I know that man," David said, pursing his lips. "He works for Dayan, too. He works as Dayan's second-in-command." Sighing, he rubbed his forehead. "If I know him..."

The other man reached them. "Weizmann, Elijah Dayan wants you," he ordered. "He has something he wants you to do for him. Immediately."

As irritation etched his face, David shook his head. "Can't Dayan get someone else?" He glared at the other man. "I have to find my sister!" He looked from one side of the street to the other, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Tiny concrete shards crumbled under the toes of his shoes. "She's somewhere in this rubble—I _have_ to find her!"

The man shook his head. "That may take days, and what Elijah wants us to do cannot wait. Elijah wants you now!"

David pressed his lips into a thin line. Christina glared at the man as a smoldering rage welled up within her. She couldn't believe the gall of this man, or of Elijah Dayan himself. Here they were, searching for missing relatives, and Dayan wanted David to break off the search and see him right then! She clenched her hands into fists.

Richard grasped David's shoulder. "I know," he said. "I understand, believe me—we all do! Especially Christina and me, because our daughter's missing, too. You have our promise that we will do everything in our power to find Deborah. And when we do, we'll send you word."

David nodded, a wan smile on her face. "Thank you. I know you will."

As he trudged across the broken street and around the corner with the man, shoulders slumped, Ryan patted his sister's arm, then pulled his handkerchief out of his jeans pocket. "Don't forget, Brownie, Elijah's the False Prophet." He sighed, then wiped beads of sweat off his face with his handkerchief. "That means the spirit of Christianity is completely foreign to him as well as to Puccini. He will not be concerned about the missing relatives of his own employees." Folding his handkerchief, he stuffed it back into his jeans pocket.

Christina nodded. "I know you're right, but you'd think even Dayan would have more compassion than this. After all, David's own sister is missing, too!" She reached up to twist a strand of hair around her index finger.

Richard nodded agreement. "We'll just have to do our best to find them both." He hurried down the street, with the others following. "I just hope we can retrace our steps in this rubble!"

"Miss Weizmann!" A pause. "Miss Weizmann! It's Rachel! Can you hear me?"

Rachel's faint voice reached Deborah's ears. The woman lay helpless on her side, buried by chunks of debris. Linoleum shards dug into her side, making her wince. Only her upper body lay uncovered. She could see only bare outlines of objects around her. Thick darkness otherwise blanketed the store.

"Rachel," she croaked. "I—can't—shout. Don't know if—you—can—hear—me."

"Miss Weizmann? Can you hear me?"

Raising her head, Deborah silently prayed, _Please, God, let me voice be strong for her! Please, God, let my voice reach her ears._ Out loud, she called, "I hear you—Rachel! Yes, I hear you." To her relief, her voice felt and sounded stronger.

"I'm so glad!" A pause. "Miss Weizmann—I've been praying and praying. That someone'll find us."

Rallying again, Deborah answered, "You keep doing that, Rachel. Unfortunately, I'm not going to live long enough to be rescued." She swallowed hard. "I'm—I'm hurt. Badly. Fatally, I fear." She laid her head back on her arm.

A Heavenly beam of light illuminated the ruins of the store; a second later, a familiar figure appeared in front of her. "Andrew!" Deborah gasped, turning her head upward to face him.

"Yes. It's me," Andrew knelt at Deborah's side. "God has sent me here, Deborah."

Deborah gazed into his eyes. "You—you're the angel of death."

"Yes." Andrew touched her shoulder, then rested both hands on the broken tiles. "I am. God has sent me to take you Home."

Deborah tried to smile, but succeeded only in forming a grimace. She winced. "You don't look at all as I thought an angel of death would—do you?" she croaked, her voice faint. "You—you have the most gentle eyes I've seen in anybody."

Andrew chuckled. "The world has given the angel of death a most fearsome reputation, but really, that's not the way we are at all." A smile crept across his face. "God wants you to know that He's proud of you—for your walk with Him, and for the way you stood firm even when your brother persecuted you and threw you out. He also wants you to know that your prayers for David have not been in vain."

Deborah nodded, a faint smile crossing her face. "What about the others? What—?" She looked toward the debris blocking the back of the store from view. "What about Rachel? She's trapped back there."

Andrew nodded, his eyes sad. "God has his hand on her, Deborah, and on the others, too. The others are unharmed, I'm pleased to report. And He will stay with Rachel through her ordeal." Deborah nodded, then winced as a spasm of pain shot through her abdomen.

He touched her shoulder again. "It's time to go."

Before Deborah had a chance to respond, she found herself standing at Andrew's side. Her lifeless, crushed body lay huddled at her feet. Putting his arm around her shoulders, Andrew took her to Heaven. 

**END OF CHAPTER 9 **

2


	11. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

"Ryan?"

Ryan spun around to find David approaching him, his shoes clicking on the broken concrete. Across the street, the others were asking questions of newcomers and shouting into the entrances of buildings. His now-folded prayer shawl hung from the crook of his right arm.

Ryan nodded, attempting to smile. "We haven't found them yet, but we're looking. What did Elijah Dayan want?" He wiped his face, then thrust his hands into his jeans pockets.

David shook his head. "He wants me to return to Rome with him. Today. I'm to help him make last-minute preparations for a celebration that's to be held for Puccini very shortly." He paused. "I'm taking a separate flight from theirs." He paused again, gazing into Ryan's eyes. Unease surged in Ryan's heart.

"Uh—David—what…?"

David fidgeted. "I would like to ask you to go with me."

Ryan gaped at the man. He dropped his arms to his sides. "You want me to _what_?!"

David raised his hand for silence. "I know, I know! I'm well-aware of the danger you and Kristen face. But I need your help, Ryan. I really do. I would not ask it if it were not needed. I can't do this alone."

Ryan couldn't believe his ears. He and his family had fled from Rome to escape death at the hands of Puccini—he had _no_ intention of going back! He shook his head.

"Puccini wants to kill Kristen and me," he said. "You said so, yourself. If I go back now, he'll find out and order me killed. Kristen, too." He sighed. "It would be suicide for me to return."

"No, it wouldn't, Ryan."

Both men spun around. To Ryan's amazement, Monica stood to their left, a warm, caring light in her eyes. Pearl earrings dangled from her earlobes. As beams of Heavenly light poured from her, David gaped at her in shock. "What—what is going on?!"

"I am an angel," Monica told him. "Sent from God, to help you through these difficult days. I have a message for you from God, but first, I have another one for Ryan." She turned to Ryan, clasping her hands in front of her waist. "David is not the only one who wants you to return to Rome with him." She touched his arm. "God does, too. He has work for you there. Don't worry; God will protect you."

Sighing heavily, Ryan nodded acquiescence. "Very well. If that is what God wants me to do, I'll go. But—" He turned to face the others, picking through the ruins of a demolished building across the street. "What about Rachel and Deborah? We haven't found them yet, and we've been searching for several hours. We can't even find the route we took to get to the Wailing Wall; the earthquake's destroyed all landmarks."

"Don't worry about them." Monica patted his shoulder. "God has His hand on Rachel, and He will lead your loved ones to her in His time. To Deborah, too."

Ryan nodded again. "Very well."

Slowly, he picked his way through the rubble-filled street, until he caught up with Kristen, who stood holding both babies against her chest, one in each arm. "Kristen, God has work for me," he said. "He wants me to go with David to Rome." He rubbed his right hand on his rough denim jeans.

Kristen froze, gaping at him. "Ryan! Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." Ryan glanced across the street at the caseworker angel watching him. "Monica just told me."

Sagging her shoulders, Kristen exchanged glances with Monica, then sighed. "Then you must." She grimaced. "But how will you pay? The airport won't take gold, and we don't have enough money left in our account to pay for a trip."

Ryan bit his lower lip. "God will make a way," he said, at last. "We can only trust him."

Kristen gazed down at the babies in her arms. "Be careful," she whispered. "And come back as quickly as possible! I need you, honey." She took a deep breath.

Ryan forced a smile on his face as he nodded, his own shoulders slumped. He kicked a jagged shard with the toe of his shoe; it bounced a foot away. "Pray for David and me, would you? Pray that God will protect us and bring us back safely."

Without a word, Kristen knelt to lay the babies on the sidewalk; leaping to her feet, she threw her arms around her husband. "I certainly will," she said, her voice choked. Crouching, Ryan hugged Jeremy and Nicole, then stood up to kiss his wife.

Ryan chuckled as Kristen shook her hair back. "Forgive me, but I can't help noticing that your earrings are identical to Monica's. You two must have gone on a joint trip to a jeweler!"

Kristen suppressed a laugh. "Obviously, she shares my taste in jewelry." She reached up to finger one of her pearl earrings, gleaming in the sunlight. Across the street, Monica's laugh reached Ryan's ears. She had obviously overheard their remarks. In that moment, a breeze caressed Ryan's cheeks and ruffled Kristen's hair.

Meanwhile, David watched them, till Monica touched his shoulder. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face her. "You said—that God has a message for me?" he asked.

"Yes." Monica paused. "And the message is that God loves you. He loved you when you were just a wee five-year-old fleeing for your life from the Communists with your family. And He loves you now."

She paused. "He wants you to come to know His Son—the Messiah your people have been waiting for these last several thousand years. He came to earth two thousand years ago, but your people failed to recognize Him. He's going to come back to this earth in just three-and-a-half years, to fulfill the prophecies made about His Kingdom in your Torah, and He wants you to receive His gift first."

David narrowed his eyebrows into slits. He pressed his fists against his sides.

"He sent those two witnesses whose resurrection you witnessed today." Monica smiled, a disarming tenderness in her eyes. She laid a hand on his arm. "Their murder and resurrection were foretold in the Book of Revelation. You helped plot their murder a few days ago, with Elijah Dayan. Today, you saw their resurrection, David."

David folded his arms across his chest, shaking his head violently. "Even though an angel is speaking these words, I find it very hard to believe. I mean, every Jew knows that this Yeshua is an impostor. He's dead!" His voice choked; he adjusted his prayer shawl on his arm. "How did—those preachers—!"

"No, David." Monica shook her head. "Yeshua has been alive ever since the Father brought Him back from death, 2000 years ago, and seated Him at the Father's right hand. He fulfilled all the prophecies predicting His first coming, David, that were made in Isaiah, Micah, and other books of the Old Testament. And He's getting ready to fulfill the prophecies for His second one. He took His Church to Heaven three-and-a-half years ago, where they will stay until He returns to earth. As for the witnesses, they fulfilled the prophecies made about them. Their mission is over."

David nodded, sighing heavily, not wanting to accept her words, but no longer able to deny them. A breeze caressed his cheeks as he thought about her message. Overhead, a fleecy white cloud drifted.

Monica's voice softened. "Turn to Jesus for salvation, David. That was the whole point of Moishe and Eli's messages. Ask Him to save you. Turn to Him for protection, guidance, and love. He will not let you down, I promise you."

David sighed again, hanging his head. He rubbed his forehead. "I wouldn't believe my sister when she tried to tell me," he muttered, gazing at the cracks and jagged shards at his feet. "I threw her out when she refused to relinquish Yeshua. I wouldn't believe Richard and Ryan and the others, either." Raising his head, he gazed into the angel's eyes. "What about Deborah? Where is she? Is she all right?"

Monica laid a hand on his arm, a mixture of sadness and compassion in her expressive eyes. "David, put your sister in God's hands."

Nodding, David bowed his head and prayed silently. As he raised his head, a new peace flooded his soul. Suddenly, he froze. Monica had disappeared! Overhead, a dove flew out of sight.

Meanwhile, Rachel curled into a half-ball, pressing the sides of her hands against the shattered linoleum, careful not to let the shards' edges cut them. Her purse lay on the floor next to her knees; she had felt for it until she'd found it. She hadn't heard a single word from Deborah for several hours, no matter how loudly she'd yelled. She could scarcely see a thing, it was so dark. Was Deborah still alive, she wondered?

Rachel wondered if she was going to die, herself. Her adoptive parents would be so devastated—they loved her as if she'd been truly been born to them. _My real mother loved me, too,_ she thought. _I hope she doesn't see all this!_

"I don't want to die," she whimpered. "Please, God, I _don't_ want to die!" She took a deep, shuddering breath as she tried to suppress the sobs welling up in her throat again.

A suddenly unearthly light flooded the back of the store. "He knows, Rachel. God knows." 

**END OF CHAPTER 10 **

3


	12. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

Rachel rolled over to find a pair of sturdy leather shoes facing her chest. Pulling herself into a sitting position, she craned her neck. To her amazement, Monica stood over her, beams of Heavenly light pouring over the angel and overflowing throughout the back of the store. Every object stood out in vivid relief. The shelves had all toppled over; merchandise lay cluttered on the floor.

Monica knelt beside the young girl and pulled Rachel into her arms. "God sees the fear in your heart, and He wants you to know He has it all under control," she said gently. "Remember the day you were kidnapped, during your last visit to Israel?"

Rachel grimaced. She did, indeed. An American Jew who had visited Israel had abducted her to replace his own dead daughter. Monica had stayed with her throughout her mercifully-short ordeal, until her parents had found her. Rachel had been twelve then, and Ryan and Kristen had just recently married; they'd gone to Israel for their honeymoon, accompanied by the Dalys.

"Are—are you here to get me out?" Rachel rubbed her eyes.

Monica shook her head. "No, Rachel. But I _am_ here to stay with you until you're found. Just as I did on that other occasion." She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped her face.

Rising to her feet, the angel searched the back of the store as Rachel watched. Grasping a thick rug, she brought it to Rachel and laid it on the floor next to her. "This will protect us from the shards of the broken floor tiles," she explained. Nodding, Rachel crawled onto the rug. Monica knelt beside her.

Rachel gazed at the wood-and-plaster debris separating them from the front of the store, then crossed her legs. "Is—is Deborah OK?"

Monica smiled. "She's better than OK, Rachel—she's in the Father's hands now. Where she can never suffer again."

Deep pain shot through Rachel's gut. "You mean—she's dead." Monica nodded. "Did—did Andrew take her to Heaven, Monica?"

The angel nodded. "Yes. He did. Deborah died without fear, Rachel. God was with her—she wasn't alone."

Rachel snuggled in Monica's arms. _Please, God, make them find us!_ she silently prayed. Out loud, she said, "You sure are kind, Monica." She fingered her rhinestone necklace as she spoke.

Monica laughed and hugged her. "Thank you." Extending her legs in front of her, the caseworker angel leaned against the wall to wait with Rachel for rescue.

Meanwhile, a cab drove Ryan and David to the Ben-Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv. Throughout the long drive, Ryan couldn't stop worrying or fidgeting. If Puccini found out Ryan was back, he was toast. Furthermore, now that Moses and Elijah had returned to Heaven, Puccini's own apparent death and resurrection was right around the corner, and with it, the Great Tribulation. Every believer on the planet would be in mortal danger when that day came, and only a small minority would survive to see the Glorious Appearing. All the while, in the back of his mind was Rachel's disappearance. What would the Dalys—or Ryan and Kristen, for that matter—do if they learned that she'd died in the earthquake?

Ryan pressed his fingers against his jeans, then raised them. Over and over, he lowered and raised them. "God," he whispered, "please protect me from Puccini. Please don't let him learn I'm coming back. And please help them find Rachel and Deborah." He rubbed his hand on his jeans.

David fidgeted and exchanged glances with Ryan. "I need a cigarette," he grumbled.

Ryan patted his knee. "Don't you think it's time to quit, David?"

David bit his lower lip. "I should, but it's so hard, Ryan."

"Yes, it is. I know." Ryan smiled wanly. "I'll tell you what. When all this is over, I'll see if I can find you some patches. I have a friend who couldn't stop smoking until he used them. They'd probably help you." David smiled his thanks.

When they arrived at the airport, as David paid for their cab ride, Ryan silently prayed, _God, how can we evade detection?_ He scanned the massive parking lot, lined with rows of parked cars gleaming in the sunlight, wondering where he and David should go.

"Would you gentlemen follow me?"

A man with a shock of brown hair approached them. He wore the immaculate uniform of a flight manager, Ryan noticed. He smiled as he glanced at Ryan. "You should remember me, Ryan. My name is Adam. Andrew and I brought you and your family to Tel Aviv." Ryan nodded, smiling back. He did, indeed, remember. "Well, I am flight manager for the plane you've been instructed to take. Follow me, and I'll take you there. There will be no charge."

Ryan nodded. "Certainly, and thank you. Just lead the way."

Exchanging puzzled glances, Ryan and David followed Adam, carrying their suitcases. The hot sun beat down on their heads; beads of sweat formed on Ryan's face. _God,_ he silently prayed, _is this part of your promised protection? To send angels to take us wherever we need to go?_

As they approached the plane, a man wearing a pilot's uniform stood outside the hangar, watching them. When Ryan could see his face, joy flooded his soul. "Andrew!" he whispered.

Chuckling, Andrew pushed back his pilot's cap. He shook Ryan's hand, then David's. "Yes, Ryan, I'll be your pilot for this trip, and Adam will be my flight manager. Just as we were during your trip here. God has promised His protection, and He does not break His word. He has even hand-picked your cab driver for your trip to the hotel where you'll be staying, when we land in Rome."

Ryan nodded; David shrugged. Andrew led them aboard, where Ryan and David fastened their seat belts. "Oh, David-God told me to give you this." Andrew handed David a rectangular cardboard box.

"A box of cigarette patches," David marvelled. "Guess God has decided it really is time I quit." Andrew nodded. "Thanks, Andrew. I'll have to wait a little while, though, before I can start using these. Right now, I've got work to do."

"Yes, you do." Andrew straightened his back. "The Lord will give you both strength." He strode up the aisle toward the pilot's cabin.

Minutes later, the plane taxied down the runway, then took off. The cool air-conditioning felt good on their sweaty faces. Ryan sank back against his cushioned seat, smiling.

Throughout the flight, Ryan prayed and meditated in silence. Across the aisle, he could sometimes overhear David's own whispered prayers. "God, I pray I'll come to know and understand Your Son better," David prayed, at one point. "I thank You for removing my spiritual blindness."

"Amen," Ryan whispered.

When the plane touched down in Rome, Andrew led the two men, each carrying his suitcase, toward a waiting cab. A man with ebony skin and a brown suit stood by the back door, waiting. "Hello, Andrew," the man said.

"Sam," Andrew greeted him. Ryan looked at him questioningly. "Yes, Ryan—as I told you, he's an angel, too. A Special Forces angel. He was my supervisor a long time ago, and now, he's Tess's. I told you about him once, three-and-a-half years ago."

Sam nodded agreement. "There's no time to explain now—I must get you gentlemen to safety. Get inside, and I'll take you to the hotel. There will be no charge for the cab." He held the door open for Ryan and David, who climbed into the back seat. Ryan reclined against the soft leather back of his seat, whispering a prayer of thanks. A dove sat on the windshield, turning its little head this way and that, until Sam inserted his key into the ignition and turned on the engine. David cradled his box of cigarette patches in his lap.

On the way, Sam gave Ryan and David their instructions. "Ryan, God wants you to keep a low profile while you're here. That way, Puccini won't find you. The bulk of the celebration will take place in the _Piazza Navona_—make sure you stay on the fringes of that area." Ryan nodded acquiescence. "And David, God has a role for you in the soon deliverance of your people—not here, but back in Israel."

"Deliverance?" David gaped at the angel. "Are we in danger?"

Sam nodded. "You will be, very soon. After Puccini suffers his lethal head wound and is resurrected. He will be indwelt by Satan, and when he does, he will turn on your people with a vengeance. He will bring the daily sacrifice in the temple to a halt, and he will demand to be worshipped as God. That will be the signal for you and your people to flee."

"To Petra?" Ryan asked softly.

"Yes."

Ryan turned to David. "You may not know this yet, but Elijah Dayan is what the Book of Revelation calls the False Prophet. He will order a statue made of Puccini. We don't know how yet, but that statue will talk and order people to worship Antonio."

David snorted. "A talking action figure, _a la_ Disneyland?"

Ryan smiled wryly. "Possibly." He paused. "At the same time, Dayan will force everyone to wear a mark." He paused. "The Mark of the Beast."

"That's right." Sam's voice held a tinge of sadness mingled with sternness. "Anyone who refuses to accept that mark will not be able to buy or sell, and most will be put to death. All who do accept it will be condemned to Hell and then the Lake of Fire. They will never have a chance to know God."

David's voice shook. "My family was in mortal danger when I was five. We were fleeing Yugoslavia." He paused. "We barely escaped with our lives."

Sam nodded. "I know. You will be in danger again, too, in the near future. But God will protect you." Nodding, Ryan turned his head to watch the landmarks whizzing past his window.

When they arrived at the hotel, the two men checked in, getting separate rooms. David paid for the rooms, since Ryan's bank account was almost depleted. Ryan went to bed and slept till morning.

David tried to do the same, but old memories kept interrupting his sleep. Again and again, he kept fighting off an overpowering urge to light a cigarette. At last, with a groan, he rose to his feet, padded toward the table, and opened the box of patches. "God! Help me!"

After reading the instructions, he opened a patch and stuck it on his chest. He climbed back into bed and turned on his side; gradually, the craving subsided. The memories, however, continued, much to his chagrin. Over the years, David had sometimes dreamed about that distant frightening time…the moment when his mother had scooped him out of bed, telling him that he must be very quiet, as they were about to take a journey the government didn't allow...the frightening moment when they had approached a high fence...the fear that had lain like a stone in the little boy's stomach, causing him to whimper till his father had shushed him.

Even though he was thankful that God had permitted their escape to Israel, where they'd lived in freedom since, the memories of those days still haunted him. David tossed and turned till his cotton sheets were rumpled, praying that God would take away these painful memories for the night and let him sleep.

The next day was devoted to preparing the celebration. While David worked with Elijah Dayan, helping him make the preparations, Ryan stayed in his room, praying and reading his leather-covered Bible. All the while, he couldn't stop thinking about Rachel. He felt so helpless, not knowing where she was, not being able to do anything to find her or help her. If God had not told him to return to Rome, he would still be in Jerusalem, helping the others look for her and Deborah. He kept glancing toward his cell phone, practically willing it to ring.

At last, his cell phone beeped. Grabbing it, he clutched it and held it to his ear. "Hello!?"

"Ryan? It's me, Kristen."

Ryan swallowed hard. "Any—any word?" He held his breath, as he pressed his fingertips against the phone's smooth sides.

"Not yet." Kristen's voice turned sad. "We're still looking, honey."

Sagging his shoulders, Ryan nodded, glancing at the sunlight pouring through his open French doors that opened onto the balcony. "I'd better let you go, then, so you can help them look." He paused. "Keep me posted, would you? As soon as you have any news about Rachel or Deborah, please call me—even if it's in the middle of the night. David's on pins and needles to know what's happened to his sister." His voice faltered. "And I needn't tell you how I'm feeling."

"I know." Kristen's own voice caught. "Don't worry, one of us will call you when we know. We all have your cell phone number. Love you."

"Bye." The phone clicked; the dial tone returned. Bowing his head, Ryan prayed for the safe return of Rachel and Deborah. With a sigh, he grabbed his handkerchief from his dresser and wiped his face, then picked up his Bible to resume his devotions. He sank into the nearest upholstered armchair, its mattress sagging beneath him, as he opened his Bible to the Epistle of First Thessalonians. 

**END OF CHAPTER 11 **

4


	13. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

The celebration started the next morning. Most of the festivities took place in and just outside the _Piazza Navona_. As instructed by Sam, Ryan kept a low profile, remaining outside the plaza, doing only menial jobs. He handed out soft drinks and containers of ice-cold lemonade to thirsty celebrators at one point; at another, he helped some janitors clean up after a street dance. All the while, he kept his cell phone in his jeans pocket. Repeatedly, he phoned his wife for updates. So far, all Kristen could report was that the search was in progress.

In the meantime, Monica stayed with Rachel. As she had done on the previous occasion, less than three-and-a-half years before, during Rachel's short-lived captivity, she told the young girl stories about previous assignments. All the while, the unearthly light shining on her kept the back of the store lit, so that Rachel could see her surroundings.

"You need to keep up your strength," Monica said, at one point. She handed Rachel an orange and an energy bar.

Rachel accepted them, her mouth watering. Her stomach had been growling for almost two days, and her mouth had become dry. "Where'd you get them?"

"God gave them to me, to give to you." Monica smiled.

"Thank you." Rachel laid the energy bar on her leg, then peeled the orange. "Do—do you want a slice?"

Monica shook her head. "No thank you."

Silently, Rachel ate the succulent orange. Sticky juice poured over her fingers and dribbled onto her jeans as she pulled slices off the orange and bit them in half. When she had eaten the last piece, she tossed the peels onto the floor. She then unwrapped the chocolate-covered energy bar, devouring it in four bites.

"Monica, is it true the pope is dead?" She licked her fingers.

Monica nodded. "Yes. He is."

Rachel gazed down at her purse for a long moment. At last, she spoke. "Is—is he in Hell?"

Monica took a deep, shuddering breath. "He came very close to being sent there," she said slowly. She furrowed her eyebrows as she leaned back.

Rachel looked at her. She shifted position on the thick braided rug. "What happened?"

Monica shifted position to face Rachel. "It was written in the Book of Revelation that the 10 kings would kill him, and that his new world religion would be dismantled." She paused. "But the choice as to whether he would die with or without God's mercy was still his to make. God sent angels to help him to make his choice."

Rachel grinned. "He sent you!"

Monica nodded. "Me and Tess and Gloria." She paused. "He had an orphaned nephew who was already making some bad choices of his own. Without God's intervention, those choices would have cost him his life and his soul. God sent us to minister to the boy as well as to his uncle, Pope Benedict."

Rachel bit her lower lip. "His parents were dead?"

Monica shook her head. "They were taken in the Rapture."

Rachel frowned. "He's Italian, right?" Monica nodded. "I thought Italians were Catholics."

Monica smiled. "The majority of them were, yes. Including the boy's parents and the boy himself. But Benito's parents knew Jesus as their Savior, so when the trumpet blew, they went to Heaven." She paused. "The pope took the boy in at that point, because there was no one else. Later, the pope moved both of them to Babylon in Iraq."

Rachel made a face. "I'll bet he hated that! That's an awful place."

Monica nodded agreement. "Yes. He did." She smiled. "He never wanted to leave Rome, and he deeply yearned to return. Well, he's back in Rome now, but it will not be long, now, till he'll be forced to flee." She paused. "Thanks to God's goodness, he made the right choice in the end, and so did his uncle. His uncle died, but his spirit is with God now." She smiled broadly at the memory.

Rachel smiled back. "Did Andrew take him to Heaven?"

Monica nodded. "Yes. He did."

As Rachel furrowed her eyebrows, thinking about that, Monica bowed her head. "Father, we are alone in this store," she prayed, "waiting for someone to find us. Please send help soon."

"Amen," Rachel added.

A soft _coo!_ startled them both. Raising her head, Rachel gaped as a snow-white dove perching on the debris in front of them illuminated the back of the store even more; the Heavenly light nearly blinded her now. Rachel put her hands above her eyes, so she wouldn't be forced to close them; she wanted to watch the dove. For several minutes, it perched on the pile of debris, turning its head this way and that.

A sense of unexplainable comfort welled up in Rachel's heart. "God sent that, didn't He?" she whispered. Monica nodded.

At last, the dove flew upward, disappearing. Only Monica's Heavenly light illuminated the back of the store then, but the fear and anxiety that had lain in Rachel's stomach like a heavy stone since the earthquake, weighing her down, had disappeared. Now she could lower her hands. Rachel shifted position, leaning against Monica and crossing her legs Indian-style. Her purse rested on her lap. A yawn escaped her mouth; her eyes felt heavy. Monica put her arm around Rachel's shoulders and smiled at the young girl.

"Maybe you should go to sleep," the angel suggested. "I'll call for help if anyone comes while you're napping." Nodding, Rachel snuggled against Monica and closed her eyes.

Meanwhile, back in Rome, Ryan and David strode out the front door of their hotel. Another man bumped into them as Ryan shut the glass door behind them. "Excuse us," Ryan said.

David froze. He gaped at the man for a long moment. In turn, the man stared at him, then brushed his dark-brown hair out of his green eyes. He was taller than Ryan. Muscles rippled in his arms as he folded them across his chest, staring at David. Ryan guessed the man to be in his thirties. He looked from the stranger to David, wondering what connection the two had.

At last, David choked, "Benjamin?!"

The man's eyes widened in evident shock. "David?!" He swallowed hard. "David _Weizmann_?!"

The two men embraced and laughed. David turned to Ryan. "Excuse us! Ryan, this is my long-lost cousin—the one I told you about, who moved to Rome a few years ago. Benjamin Weizmann. Ben, this is my good friend, Ryan Whittaker." He shook his head. "I haven't heard from Ben or Esther since they moved here. You should have at least called, Ben!" A reproachful tone entered the man's voice. Ben smiled sheepishly.

Ryan couldn't believe it. This man was David's cousin? The one who had moved to Rome years before? He wondered if this was part of God's plan. If so, he wanted to know what the plan was.

Ryan extended his hand. As the two men shook hands, Ryan noticed a bitter expression carefully hidden behind the welcoming smile Ben gave. "David's told me about you," Ryan told him. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ben."

Benjamin nodded. "I know from your accent that you're an American." Ryan nodded. "Where do you live now?"

"Well, until recently, I lived in Rome, working for Antonio Puccini. But in recent days, my wife and I moved to Jerusalem."

David pursed his lips. "He and his wife fled for their lives—Puccini was planning to kill them. He came with me, because I asked him to, and because Jehovah wanted him to."

Ben's face turned red. He gazed down at several ants scurrying on the pavement at his feet. He looked up at Ryan, then David. "So, Puccini wants him dead, does he?" His voice rose. "The man is a monster!" He shook his head, taking a deep breath. "Forgive me, David—I haven't told you. My wife is dead."

David gaped at him. "No." Ben nodded. David swallowed hard. "How did that happen?"

"Puccini ordered her murdered." Ben pressed his lips into a thin line. "My Esther accepted this Yeshua—this Jesus—as her Messiah. I didn't like it, but I still loved her. Puccini—_killed_ her!" Grief etched his face. "He's going to pay for my wife's murder with his life, David! I swear, he will!"

He shook his fist in the air. Desperate to escape the fury in the man's eyes, Ryan looked past him to the EU flag waving in the breeze from the roof of a building across the street. Several swallows perched around it; one spread its wings and flew off. _Where's a dove when you need one?_ Ryan thought.

He and David exchanged troubled glances. Ryan laid a hand on Ben's shoulder. "I understand your rage," he said slowly. "Antonio Puccini is a wicked man—in fact, he's a deceiver and a Satan-worshipper. My own wife can vouch for that. But—" He swallowed. "Well, you should know that even if you succeed in killing him, he's not going to stay dead."

David nodded agreement. "We have much to tell you about that man, Benjamin, but for now, all we can do is beg you not to try to kill him. It will bring you no comfort, trust me. Only more pain. And endangerment."

Ben curled his lips into a sneer. He put his hands on his hips, glaring at David. "I don't care. He deserves to die! All I have to live for, now, is getting justice for my wife. And she's going to get it!" He ground a pebble with the toe of his sturdy leather shoe as he spoke.

Ryan sighed, sadness welling up within him. "May we pray for you, Benjamin?"

Benjamin shrugged. "You may, Ryan, but it won't dissuade me. My mind is made up." Dropping his hands to his sides, he turned to David. "Are you and David staying here?"

David nodded. "Yes. Dayan ordered me here to help him prepare this celebration for Puccini. Now that it's in progress, he wants me to stay in Rome in case he needs me, but he's giving me the time off to enjoy myself." He scratched the back of his head.

"And I'm doing my best to stay out of Puccini's sight," Ryan added. "If he learns I'm here, I'm as good as dead. Then he'll be after my family."

Ben nodded. "You'll be out of danger when I'm done with him, Ryan. You should be thanking me for eliminating this man." He sighed. "In the meantime, I'm here to get a room for the night. I dare not stay in my own home at this time."

He strode into the hotel; the glass door slowly swung shut behind him. Faintly, Ryan heard the bell tinkling the arrival of the latest newcomer.

Ryan sighed and shook his head. "Benjamin is so bitter and grief-stricken."

"Yes." David suddenly stopped, biting his lower lip, pain in his eyes. "You go on," he told Ryan. "I'm going back to my room. I'll be back later."

Ryan nodded. "All right."

David trudged back into the lobby, then took the elevator to his room. For a moment, he thought about going downstairs to find Ben, then changed his mind. Once in his room, he replaced the patch with a new one, then threw himself on the double bed and moaned.

As he lay immobile, his nose pressed against the soft rose-colored bedspread, waves of grief and guilt flooded his heart. Ever since the earthquake, he had felt guilty for the way he'd treated his sister. If only he hadn't thrown Deborah out, she wouldn't have been caught out in that violent earthquake! Or if she had, he would have been able to help her. If she had died, it was his fault.

"It's my fault," he said, over and over. "I threw my little sister out. I wouldn't let her stay unless she renounced Yeshua. I forced her to choose between Yeshua and me, and she chose Yeshua. And now, her forced choice may have cost my Deborah her life!"

He sighed. "Is this what we escaped Yugoslavia for—so we could be killed in an earthquake years later?"

Images of that terrifying time came into his mind again—raising his head, he pressed his fingertips against his eyelids in a desperate attempt to block them out. He did not want to think about that now. _God, help me!_

He rose to his feet and stalked back and forth in a straight line, from the door to the window across the room. His shoes made soft thuds on the thick carpet. Once, he paused to watch a bank of gray clouds moving toward them. _It's going to rain,_ he thought, sighing. After several minutes of pacing, he threw himself back on the bed and moaned again.

A knock on the door startled him. "David? You OK?" Ryan's muffled voice reached David's ears.

With a sigh, David rolled sideways and sat up. "Come in, Ryan!" He rubbed his forehead.

The door swung open; Ryan stepped inside. "I have a feeling you could use some prayer, David," he said softly. "This is a rough time for you."

David swung his legs over the edge of the bed and nodded. "Yes, it is. And I could."

Ryan perched on the edge next to his friend. He put his hand on David's shoulder and bowed his forehead; David did the same. "God," Ryan prayed, "I confess we don't understand why any of this has to happen. I know it's been foretold in Your Word, but knowing that doesn't make it any easier to endure."

He swallowed hard. "I ask You, God, to be with my niece Rachel. And with David's sister, Deborah. If it is Your will, please save them and restore them to us. But if it is Your will that they die—uh, well, please give them grace in that moment and—and give us your comfort." His voice faltered at the end, then choked.

"Amen." David's voice choked as well. He paused. "And God, please help my cousin. Amen. Don't let him do something he's going to be deeply sorry for later." He put his face in his hands; Ryan put his arm around his friend's shoulders.

While Ryan and David sat in David's hotel room, praying, Benjamin stood at the corner of an intersection that bordered the _Piazza Navona_. For several minutes, as crowds of people passed him and milled around, he marked the spot where Puccini would stand on a platform to give a speech to the public the next day. The platform stood near the fountain that represented Neptune doing battle with a sea monster.

A raindrop landed on his head. He would have to find shelter shortly. He looked behind him at the Fountain of the Four Rivers. A huge crowd would be standing in front of that fountain, he knew.

"This will be a good spot," he muttered. "I'll stand near it—perhaps behind it—so I can see Puccini without him seeing me. From that spot, I'll have a clear shot at him." A bitter smile curled his lips. "And he will die just as my poor wife did."

He clenched his hands into tight balls. He then reached into his jacket pocket to admire the revolver tucked inside. People passed him from all sides as lively music played in the background. Balloons hung from the fountains; vendor stands stood everywhere.

Pulling a pair of binoculars out of his jeans pocket, he focused them on a group of men gathered near the platform. Antonio Puccini stood in the center of that group, exchanging greetings with the others.

"Enjoy your last day of life, Antonio," Ben muttered. "Because tomorrow, you go to Hell!" When another raindrop spattered the binoculars' left lens, he lowered it to his waist. He hurried toward a nearby cafe to stay inside until the rain stopped.

Back at the hotel, Ryan and David continued to pray for him, heads still bowed. "Please don't let Benjamin carry out his murderous plans," Ryan prayed. "Please stop him."

"It's not going to work, Ryan."

Both men sat up ramrod straight. Sam, the angelic cab driver, stood in front of them, hands clasped behind him. "It's—it's not?" David pressed his palms against the soft bedspread.

Sam shook his head. "No, David. It's not. Puccini's time has come. Your cousin will succeed in killing him." He smiled at David as the obviously-dejected man slumped his shoulders. "Don't despair, though. Even though God will not physically stop Benjamin from murdering Puccini, He _is_ working on him." His face became serious, and he shook his head. "In the end, the final choice is your cousin's, and I cannot promise that he will make the right one. At least, not in the short term."

"The choice is his," Ryan said.

Sam nodded. "Yes. It is. God has heard your prayers, though, and He is working in Benjamin's heart. Keep praying for him—he needs it desperately."

David nodded acquiescence, rubbing his forehead. "We will, Sam. Thank you." The Special Forces angel disappeared.

"What time is it?" Rachel yawned. "I don't even know if it's night or day." She rubbed her eyes as she spoke; she had slept for hours. The same unearthly light that had been lighting the store since Monica's arrival still did, she noticed.

"It's day. Mid-morning."

Monica stretched her arms. Her hair looked disheveled, Rachel noticed. _Do angels get tired and cramped, too?_ the young girl wondered.

She sighed. "I'm hungry."

Monica smiled. "Here's another energy bar, Rachel."

Rachel took it. "Thanks." She forced a smile on her face. "I'm sure glad you're with me. It'd be awful to wait alone."

"I know." Monica's eyes saddened. "That's why the Father sent me." She smoothed her long brown hair back. Her pearl earrings glistened in the Heavenly light.

"You'll stay with me till we're found?" Rachel shoved the bar into her mouth and bit off half of it.

Monica nodded. "Yes, I will."

"You sure you don't want part of it?" Rachel held out the energy bar as she spoke. Smiling warmly, Monica shook her head. Rachel chewed and swallowed.

"I got a comb in my purse." Rachel drew it out of her purse and held it toward Monica. Laughing, Monica took the comb and thanked her.

"Uh, Monica—did Andrew take Miss Weizmann to Heaven?" She ate the other half of the energy bar as Monica combed her luxuriant brown hair.

Monica nodded. "Yes, he did." She slid the comb through her bangs.

"Are you sure she wasn't scared?"

Monica handed the comb back to Rachel, then hugged the young girl to her side. "Yes, I'm sure," she said gently. "God gave her His grace to face death with courage. And she's with the Father now, in a place where she will never suffer again."

Biting her lower lip, Rachel dropped her comb back into her purse. "I miss her. She was so nice!" She buried her face in Monica's bosom and sobbed. Monica embraced her, comforting her.

Meanwhile, Christina leaned against a demolished wall, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Her face felt dirty, and her hair hung disheveled and matted from her scalp. Her face felt sweaty and smudged with dirt; cold despair lay in her heart. She feared that her daughter was dead. They might never find her. She glanced down at her watch and moaned.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Richard asked. He looked as weary and disheveled as she felt, Christina noticed. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.

She wiped a stray tear from her face and sighed. "Maybe we should give up." She bit her lower lip. "She's probably dead." She shook her head. "Richard, Rachel and Deborah have been missing for three days. They may both be dead by now, they've been missing so long."

"Don't give up, Christina Daly!"

Startled by the imperious voice, Christina whirled around to find Tess standing behind her, hands on her hips. The stern expression on Tess's face softened.

"Don't give up," she repeated, the imperious tone gone from her voice. "God is with Rachel, and He will lead you to her when the time is right. When you do find her, you will also find Deborah."

"Are they together?" Richard asked.

"They're in the same vicinity," Tess answered.

Richard nodded acquiescence. "We'll keep looking." He glanced at his wife, then rubbed his hair front to back. "Won't we, Christina?"

Christina smiled wanly. "Of course." She paused. "Is—is our Rachel still alive?"

"Yes, she is. Monica is with her, so she's not alone." She touched Christina's arm as she spoke.

Richard sagged his shoulders. "Thank the Lord!" Christina wrapped her arms around her husband for a long moment. When she turned him loose, Tess had disappeared.

"Come on," Richard said. "Let's keep looking." Christina nodded, then went back to work. The two trudged down the shattered sidewalk toward the next building.

Meanwhile, back in Rome, Ryan and David approached the _Piazza Navona_, where a now-massive crowd milled around. The storm had moved through the evening before; now the sky appeared cloudless. A breeze ruffled both men's hair. Neither man had seen Ben since their initial meeting the day before.

"This is where Puccini's supposed to give his speech," David said. "See that platform over by that fountain over there? That's where he's giving his speech. Well, he should be on that platform any minute." He gripped Ryan's arm. "You'd better stay out of sight. If Puccini should see you…" His voice trailed off.

"Don't worry. I will." Ryan grimaced. "I'm staying behind this fountain till it's all over." He turned toward the Fountain of the Four Rivers as he spoke. For a long moment, he gazed at the rocks and grottoes covering the fountain, and the allegorical figures set inside. He then stepped behind it, placing himself where he could get a view of Puccini without being seen.

Minutes later, a band marched down the street, followed by several police cars and a black limousine. The limo stopped in front of the platform, and Dayan and Puccini stepped out.

Stepping up to the microphone, Elijah Dayan spoke first. "This is a day we have long looked forward to!" He raised his arms above his head. "In honor of His Excellency's achievement in getting rid of the two witnesses, we are holding this celebration this week. And now—" He paused. "Please welcome His Excellency, Antonio Puccini, president of the European Union and ruler of the world!"

The crowd applauded as Puccini approached the microphone. He raised his hands for quiet, and the people stopped clapping. As Puccini began his speech, the back of a man's head in the crowd caught Ryan's eye. Dark-brown hair covered the man's head. Ryan gaped at him for a long moment. _Could_ it be—could it be Ben?

"I wish I dared get closer, but I'm afraid of attracting Puccini's attention," he muttered. "If it's Ben, I fear he's up to no good."

Ryan had a bad feeling about this. If that man was, in fact, Benjamin Weizmann, he might be planning to shoot Puccini right there. Somehow, even though it meant risking his life, Ryan had to stop him, to make him reconsider.

Poking his head around the edge of the fountain, Ryan looked toward Puccini, then turned his gaze back to the man. Puccini had paused, to gauge the crowd's reaction, his hands inserted in his pockets. The crowd now stood hushed and motionless, waiting for Puccini to resume his speech. Ryan ducked behind again.

"I'll talk to him," he decided. "Please, God, keep me out of Puccini's sight and give me the words to say!"

An earsplitting gunshot rang in his ears, followed by horrified screams and yells. Sticking his head around the fountain, Ryan gaped at the sight on the platform. Puccini was clutching his head, blood pouring from the side. In the next instant, he collapsed. 

**END OF CHAPTER 12 **

7


	14. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13**

Ryan froze, gaping at the man. People continued to shout and scream.

"Get paramedics!" he heard Dayan shout above the frenzied crowd. "Hurry!"

David rushed up to Ryan. "Come on! Hurry!"

The two men pushed their way through the crowd toward Ben, who stood, a bulge under his shirt, gazing up at the mortally-wounded man lying motionless on the podium. "Come on, Ben!" Ryan urged. "Let's get out of here! Fast! Before the police see you!"

David grabbed his cousin's arm and pulled him out of the crowd. The two men dragged him into the nearest cab. To Ryan's relief, Sam sat behind the wheel. "Take us back to the hotel, please," he said. Flooring the accelerator, Sam sped in the direction of the hotel.

"Stay in hiding," Sam ordered. "Keep Benjamin with you—don't let him return to his home." Nodding acquiescence, David pulled his cousin out of the cab and hurried him into the back of the building. Ryan followed suit. The door clicked shut behind them.

All day, the three men stayed in Ryan's room. They watched the TV coverage; only David left the room to order room service. To their dismay, a wanted poster of Benjamin appeared on the TV screen, along with a reward for anyone who turned him in.

"Uh-oh! Look," Ryan said. Elijah Dayan sat behind a desk, a microphone attached to his lapel. Sorrow etched his face.

"Antonio Puccini was a good man," he said, his voice choking. "He pulled the Middle East out of decades of violence. For the first time since Israel came into existence, they have a working peace treaty with their Arab neighbors and the temple they dreamed of for so long."

A hard expression crept into his eyes. "And this is how the Jews repay His Excellency's largess—by murdering their benefactor! Yes, ladies and gentleman, it was an Israeli Jew who killed him. His name is Benjamin Weizmann, and he used to work for Puccini. But he wasn't satisfied with what Puccini had done for him, and so he decided to kill him."

"Liar!" Ben hissed. "I killed him because he killed my wife!" He shook his fist at the TV screen. "And if I could, I'd kill you, too!"

Ryan laid a calming hand on Ben's shoulder. To their side, David paced back and forth in a straight line, shaking his head nonstop. His shoes thudded softly on the carpet. Ryan had closed the drapes across the French doors, so the room looked darkened. A table lamp shed a soft light throughout the bedroom.

Dayan rested his hands on the desk. "Rest assured, the murderer will be caught and prosecuted. In the meantime, in our late world leader's honor, I have ordered a statue of Puccini to be built. It will stand in front of the government building." A diagram of the proposed statue appeared on the TV screen. It was to be a life-size statue of Puccini, standing, gazing ahead.

Ryan caught his breath. He did not like what he had just heard. This proposed statue was probably the one predicted in Revelation. It would speak, ordering people to worship Puccini on pain of death. Rising to his feet, he pressed his index finger against the power button, shutting the TV set off. Silently, he turned his back to face David and Ben. For a long moment, he leaned against the TV set, facing the other two, hands folded across his chest.

"We're going to get out of Rome," he said, at last. "And we're going to do it fast." He looked from Benjamin to David. "David, you may have to quit your job. If Dayan learns that the murderer is your own cousin…" His voice trailed off. He bit his lower lip.

"I agree. You're right." David nodded agreement. "We can't do it now, though. You heard what Sam said—we have to stay in hiding." He glanced at his cousin, who sat slumped on the edge of the bed, head bowed. Ben fixed his gaze on his shoes as they flattened the tufts of carpet beneath.

Ryan nodded in return. "We'll just have to occupy ourselves as well as we can, until it's safe to get out." _And keep an eye on Ben,_ he thought. _He may do something drastic._

Ben looked up at Ryan. "Thank you." His voice sounded faint. Approaching him, Ryan squeezed his shoulder.

The three men spent the night in Ryan's room. Ryan slept on the couch so the two cousins could share his bed. Unable to sleep for much of the night, Ryan tossed and turned; when he did go to sleep, nightmares about the day's events haunted him.

_What should we do, Lord?_ he prayed, more than once. _Show us! Help us!_

He resisted the urge to pound his rumpled pillow, lest he wake the other two; instead, he burrowed his nose into it. _How long, now, till Puccini returns from death, indwelt by Satan? It can't be long now! And we can ill-afford to stay here when it happens. When Dayan learns that Ben is related to David, David and Nicole will be in as much danger as I am._

While Ryan tried to sleep, the four angels met on the portico of the government building, invisible to all human eyes. "Why are we supposed to meet here?" Monica asked her supervisor.

"All I know, Miss Wings, is that this is the Father's order," Tess replied. "We will learn His reason shortly." She folded her arms across her chest.

"Yes, you will." Sam appeared at their side, dressed in a gray suit, accompanied by another angel carrying a trumpet.

"Gabriel!" Monica exclaimed. "It's good to see you."

The Annunciations archangel chuckled. "And to see you." He looked from Tess to Andrew, smiling a greeting, then paused to look at Gloria. His trumpet dangled from the crook of his arm. "And you must be Gloria."

Gloria beamed. "Yes! The others have told me so much about you."

Gabriel nodded. "And Monica and Tess have told me much about you." His eyebrows furrowed, as he exchanged glances with Sam, who nodded.

Sam cleared his throat, then thrust his hands into his pants pockets. "Gabriel and I have just left Heaven." He paused. "Satan has been banished from there permanently. He is never to appear in God's presence again."

Tess nodded, lips pursed. "He tried again, didn't he?"

Gabriel nodded. "He certainly did. He has just made a last-ditch effort to overthrow God and to take over Heaven. But Michael and his forces fought valiantly, and threw him out. His demons, too."

Sam nodded. "Satan has been thrown out of Heaven for the last time-he is never to enter it again. He may never again enter the Throne Room to accuse believers. He has been thrown down to earth, where he will stay with all his demons until Jesus returns." He paused, his eyes darkening. "And you know what that means."

Monica nodded, exchanging a concerned look with Andrew, then with Gloria. She did, indeed: the indwelling of Puccini was about to happen. That meant things would become worse for mankind than they'd ever been or ever would be again. Gabriel vanished as she and the others pondered his words.

The next morning, when the three men finished breakfast, Ryan yawned. "I'm so sleepy." He glanced at his watch. "Turn on the TV, David, and we'll see what the update on Puccini is."

David picked up the remote control and pushed the "power" button. The blank screen came to life, already tuned to CNN, Ryan noticed. In the next instant, as the three men peered at the TV, an excited anchorman announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have Edna Rolsten on location in the _Piazza Navona_ with the newly-resurrected Antonio Puccini! Stay tuned."

The three men exchanged startled glances; Ben gaped at the screen in shock. He pressed his fingertips against the surface of the table, holding his breath. The coverage immediately turned to the plaza where, sure enough, a miraculously-recovered Puccini stood on the platform near the Fountain of the Four Rivers, with a reporter holding a microphone. No evidence of the gunshot wound remained in the side of his head. The early-morning sunlight shed golden beams on the imposing buildings surrounding the plaza. Elijah Dayan stood behind him, a few paces to the left.

"Uh-oh," Ryan said in a low voice. "Look at his eyes."

The three men peered at Puccini's face. Sure enough, there was a hard glint in Puccini's eyes that had not been there before. He shifted position from one foot to another, as a pleased smirk appeared on his face. Dayan looked from Puccini to the audience with a beam of satisfaction in his eyes.

"It's official," the reporter announced. "Ladies and gentlemen, Antonio Puccini has raised himself from the dead!" She turned to Puccini. "May we hear in your own words, Excellency, how that happened?"

Puccini folded his arms across his chest. "It is very simple. As the designated leader of the world government, it was not my time yet. It has been revealed to me that I am God. As such, I have powers of deity."

Awe crept into the reporter's tone. "Powers that include—raising yourself from the dead?"

"Yes." Puccini inclined his forehead. "Exactly."

Miss Rolsten cleared her throat. "So, Excellency—what are your plans now that you're returned to life?"

Puccini pressed his lips into a thin line. "My biggest priority, now, is to get rid of all opposition. And to announce a new focus of worship in the near future, now that the pope's religion has been disbanded." He raised his hand. "I will announce my plans for all that soon. In the meantime—" He turned to Dayan. "Elijah, just so there's no doubt in anyone's mind as to my identity, show them some proof."

"With pleasure, lord." Dayan half-turned his body, raised his face toward the sky, and pointed his arm heavenward. "Look at the new vendor's stand at the far end of the plaza!"

As Ryan, David, and Ben gaped in shock, a sudden surge of fire bolted out of the sky, engulfing the vendor's stand in flames. In a matter of minutes, the fire died out, leaving behind a pile of charred remains.

Puccini turned back to the reporter. "That should eliminate any doubt that I am God," he told her. "And if anyone wants more proof, it will be forthcoming."

"I-I certainly don't doubt your word-lord," the awestruck Miss Rolsten stammered, a mixture of awe and admiration in her voice.

Puccini turned to the camera. "All right, then. I would like to thank everybody for your gifts, phone calls, and get-well cards. It is most gratifying to know that so many are loyal to me." He walked away. Miss Rolsten turned to face the camera, her microphone held to her chin.

"This-this is Edna Rolsten with CNN News," the reporter concluded.

Ben leaped to his feet and pressed the button off. The TV screen went blank. "I want to be alone," he said, his voice sounding agitated. David and Ryan exchanged troubled looks. Taking a deep breath, Ben turned around. "Don't worry, I'm not going to sneak off—I'm no hurry to be executed by Dayan or Puccini. But I've got much to think about."

Sighing, Ryan rose to his feet. "We'll be in David's room if you need us." The two men left. The door clicked shut.

Benjamin pressed his ear against the door; he waited till he heard David's own door shut. With a deep sigh, he sank down on the edge of the bed and pulled his revolver out of his inside jacket pocket and gazed at it for a long moment. He ran his fingers along its cold metal side. The mattress sagged underneath as he shifted position.

"I thought I'd feel better than this when Puccini died," he said to himself. "I've avenged my wife's death." He shook his head. "So why don't I feel better? And how could Puccini have come back to life anyway? The news reports said he was dead! Dead men don't come back to life."

He shook his head. "It's over," he muttered. "I've had it. Now not only am I in real danger, so are my cousins. And their friend."

Ben just wanted to die. He had nothing to live for now. He was in even more pain than he'd endured before he'd killed Puccini. Holding the revolver to his temple, he pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. _It's empty!_ he thought.

Cursing, he pulled a smooth lead bullet out of his pants pocket and slipped it into the revolver. He then slipped another. "Please, God," he prayed, "just let me die. I can't take anymore."

"Benjamin, God doesn't want you to do this." 

**END OF CHAPTER 13**

4


	15. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14**

Ben raised his head; to his shock, a man with sandy-brown hair stood before him. He wore a gray suit and kept his hands in his pockets; compassion and caring radiated in his eyes. Dropping the revolver on the bed, Ben leaped to his feet.

"Where did you come from?" He swiveled his head from door to window, both closed. "I didn't even hear you come in!" He stared at the visitor. "Who are you?!"

"My name is Andrew." Beams of unearthly light began to pour off Andrew as Ben, still gaping at him, sank down on the bed, hands shaking. "And God has sent me here to tell you that He doesn't want you to kill yourself. I'm an angel."

Ben lowered his head. "Puccini murdered my wife. Where was God—or His angels—when he killed her?" He clenched his fists as he spoke.

"I know he killed her. To get even, you tried to kill Puccini." Ben nodded. Andrew took a step forward. "God sees the pain in your heart, Benjamin, and the deep shame. And the bitterness." The angel of death paused. The beams of unearthly light formed a circle surrounding his feet. "He wants to offer you His forgiveness, Ben. His mercy. His comfort. God loves you, and He doesn't want you to destroy yourself. He offers you life abundant and eternal."

He touched Benjamin's shoulder. For a long moment, he gazed into the man's eyes. "Your Esther is in the Father's arms, Benjamin. She will never suffer again. And if you'll accept God's gift of forgiveness, you'll be with her once more, soon."

A knock on the door startled Ben. Andrew dropped his hand to his side. Before Ben could respond, the door swung open. Ryan framed the entrance.

"Hello, Ben—" Ryan gaped at Andrew in shock, then pleasure. "Andrew! It's you." He stepped into the room, David behind him, shoes softly thudding on the carpet. David had draped his woolen prayer shawl over his shoulders, Ben noticed. It hung askew, as if he'd thrown it on in a hurry.

Ben gaped at them. "You—you know this—this _angel_?!" He sank down onto the bed, shoulders slumped, as he looked from Ryan to Andrew in shock.

Ryan nodded. "God has sent him to my family and me more than once, Ben. And David, here, has met him too." He glanced at the angel of death. "And whatever Andrew's telling you to do, I strongly urge you to do as he says, because his words come from God."

Ben rose to his feet. His voice choked. "How—how do I do that, Andrew?"

"Receive God's Son as your Messiah." Andrew touched his shoulder again. "Ask Him into your heart. Ask Him to forgive you and to make you new."

Bowing his head, Ben silently prayed to Jesus. When he looked into Andrew's eyes, a sense of peace he had never felt before flooded his heart. "Thank you, Andrew. And you, Ryan—David."

Andrew beamed. "We're all rejoicing with you, Ben. And so is God." His face turned serious. "And already, He has something he wants you to do. A young girl is trapped somewhere in Jerusalem, and your skills are going to be needed to help save her. She's been missing since the earthquake there, a few days ago."

Ryan nodded, biting his lower lip. "That young girl is my niece, Ben. My adopted niece. And your cousin Deborah is missing, too."

David nodded, deep pain in his eyes. "And it's my fault that she is—I threw her out when she wouldn't renounce Yeshua. There's no telling where she is! Or if she's even alive." His voice choked.

Ben nodded. "Don't worry, David, I'll help you." He paused, looking from David to Ryan to Andrew. "How are we going to get back to Jerusalem?"

Thrusting his hands into his pockets, Andrew smiled. "I'll take you. Another angel will be waiting downstairs with a cab. But before you do-" He paused to glance at the dresser to his left. "-I think Ben, here, should disguise himself."

Ryan and David exchanged glances. "Another angel?" Ryan asked. Andrew nodded. "Sam?" Andrew nodded again.

He disappeared; when Ben whirled around, he saw a wig and a pair of sunglasses lying side-by-side on the dresser. "Put on the wig and the sunglasses," David ordered. "I'll loan you a hat to wear as well. You'll have to keep wearing them until we know it's safe to take them off." Sighing, Ben acquiesced. While he donned the disguise, David unbuttoned his shirt and stuck a patch on his chest.

"Trying to quit smoking?" Ben asked.

David nodded. "It's time." He took a long look at his cousin. "We'd better go as soon as we can. Our ride should be waiting for us any time now."

Sure enough, when they exited the hotel lobby half an hour later, they found Sam leaning against a cab by the curb. He drove them to the airport, where Andrew, in turn, flew them to Tel Aviv. Sam met them at Ben-Gurion Airport and drove them back to Jerusalem. So far, no one had given Ben a second glance in his disguise.

"There they are." Sam pointed at a small group assembled on a street corner. "They haven't given up hope, but they are getting exhausted." He smiled. "Again, there is no charge. You just keep doing what God calls you to do-that's all the payment I ask of you."

Ryan nodded acquiescence. "Pray that God gives us success, Sam. And that Ben's disguise continues to work. You, too, Andrew." Ryan pushed the back door open, then jumped out. "Brownie!" He cupped his hands.

His sister turned in his direction; a broad smile spread across her face. "Ryan!" Christina rushed into his arms as he joined the others, accompanied by Andrew. The cab sped off.

After the two hugged, Christina turned to the others. Her hair looked mussed, Ryan noticed, and her face looked smudged. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead; she reached up to wipe them off with the back of her hand. After Ryan and Kristen exchanged a long embrace, Christina turned to the other two. "David! Andrew! You're back!"

Andrew hugged her, chuckling. His pilot uniform had been miraculously replaced with a pair of blue jeans and a dark-brown T-shirt. After wiping his sweaty face, Richard greeted them, then turned to Ben. "Who's this?"

"This is my cousin Ben." David patted Ben's arm. "Ben, these are the friends Ryan and I told you about." He turned to the others, then lowered his voice. "Ben is wearing a wig for protection. If he's recognized on the streets, his life will be forfeit."

Ben nodded. "I'll be glad when I can take this wig off-it's hot and scratchy in this weather. Hard to believe it would be this hot this early in the year." David nodded, a wry expression etched on his face. Raising his voice, Ben added, "I understand you've got a young relative missing." He scratched his cheek as he spoke.

"Yes. Our daughter, Rachel. Along with your cousin Deborah." Richard shook his head, then glanced at his watch. "Is there anything you can do to help us?"

"I think I can." Benjamin nodded. "I work in the construction field, so I should be able to help you once we've found out where she's trapped."

Christina choked back a sob. "We—we've had no success there. We've looked and looked!"

"Perhaps _I_ can help you."

Christina whirled to find Gloria standing behind her. Tess stood to the other angel's left, her brooch glistening in the sunlight. "Gloria's decided to volunteer her services in helping you locate Rachel," Tess said.

Ben furrowed his eyebrows, a puzzled, disbelieving look in his eyes. "This _woman_ can—?"

"Not a woman, Benjamin. An angel." Tess looked at him sternly, folding her arms across her chest. "Sent by God."

"Gloria and Tess are both angels," Ryan told Ben. "As are Andrew and Sam. God has surrounded us with angels when we've needed them."

"That's right, and He will do so again, when the need arises. And furthermore, Gloria has an efficient mind. It works just like a computer." Tess nodded toward her colleague. "If anyone can figure out where Rachel and Deborah are trapped, she can!"

Christina smiled wanly. "Yes. She can." She smiled at Gloria, then glanced down at her dirt-encrusted sneakers.

Gloria turned toward her. "Christina, what route did you and the others take to go to the Wailing Wall?" She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

After Christina described it for her, Gloria folded her arms across her chest. Beads of sweat rolled down her own cheek as she furrowed her eyebrows to think. "So, somewhere in route to the Wailing Wall, Rachel got separated from you." She bowed her head for a long moment, then raised her eyes to the sky, beaming. "She must have stopped along the way to window-shop. And when she saw that you had gone on without her, she must have decided to enter that store and then catch up with you later."

Christina nodded. "We've tried to retrace our route, but the rubble has made that impossible. We can't even find any street signs that are intact."

Nodding Gloria picked her way down one sidewalk and then another, the others following her. All carefully stepped over piles of broken concrete shards and edges of shards sticking upwards from the sidewalk's surface. "When and where did you last see her?" Gloria looked back at the others as she spoke.

Richard furrowed his eyebrows, then rubbed his hair, front to back. "Well, when we were 10 blocks from the Wailing Wall, she asked me how long I thought it would be before the two witnesses came back to life. I told her it would happen before that day was out, surely."

Nodding, Gloria continued to mince down the sidewalk. "So, somewhere within 10 blocks of the Wailing Wall, she got separated. And knowing Rachel, she probably stopped at a gift shop to look. There are two kinds of stores I know she'd be tempted to stop at—a bookstore and a gift store. And there are no bookstores along this route." Tilting her head, she paused to scan the demolished buildings up and down both sides of the street, then walked further. 

**END OF CHAPTER 14 **

3


	16. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 15**

After walking a few more feet, Gloria stopped in front of a broken sign that lay on the pavement. "This is it! This is the gift shop." She turned toward the others, beaming.

Christina and Richard gaped at each other. Could it be—?

"Is anyone there?" Ryan hollered, approaching the front. No answer.

He raised his voice. "Rachel! Are you there?"

No reply.

"Try the back," Tess suggested.

The group carefully circled the demolished building. At the back, Richard leaned against the tilted wall, cupped his hands, and shouted. "_Rachel!_ Are you there, honey? It's your dad!"

"Rachel! If you're there, answer us!" Christina yelled.

A pause. As the assembled group stood, not daring to make a sound, a faint voice reached her ears. "Is that you, Mom?"

The whole group erupted into cheers. Richard and Christina hugged each other, then Richard again leaned against the wall, wincing as jagged edges dug into his arms. "Don't worry, sweetheart." His voice faltered. "It took us a long time to find you, but now that we have, we're going to get you out!" He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Don't worry, Richard. Rachel is not alone." A faint, yet familiar, Irish brogue reached his ears.

"Monica!" Christina shouted. "Are you and Rachel all right?"

"Yes."

"Monica's been giving me oranges and energy bars!" Rachel added.

Richard nodded. "To keep Rachel from dehydrating," he told Christina, who nodded.

David stepped up next to them. "Rachel, this is David Weizmann," he shouted. "My cousin Ben is with us, and he's going to help us get you and Monica out." He took a deep breath. "Tell me—" His voice faltered. "Is—is my Deborah in there?"

A long pause. David raised his voice higher. "Please, Rachel, I've got to know!"

A short pause. Rachel's voice, evidently choked with tears. "She's dead, Mr. Weizmann. An—an angel took her to Heaven. Andrew."

David stepped back, grief etched on his face. He slumped his shoulders, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "Excuse me," he murmured to the others. "I don't think—I don't think I can help out—with this rescue job."

"That's all right, David. We've got plenty of help now, thanks to you." Richard laid a hand on the man's shoulder. "Why don't you sit on that concrete slab over there and rest?"

With a nod, David trudged toward the slab and slumped down onto it, gazing down at his leather shoes. Grief and guilt flooded his heart. His worst fears had been confirmed; Deborah was dead!

_It's my fault,_ he thought. _I killed her! If I hadn't kicked her out, she'd still be alive._

Meanwhile, folding his arms across his chest, Ben gazed at the ruins of the gift shop for a long moment. He reached up to wipe beads of sweat from his cheeks. "Can't believe how hot it already is. It's only March," he muttered. Louder, he added, "We'll need rescue equipment to save Rachel and Monica and to recover Deborah's body, but I dare not try to get us any. It may take more than this disguise to protect if I try-I'm a wanted man now." Running his hands through the wig, he turned to Gloria. "Would you please get us what we need?"

Gloria nodded. "Certainly."

"Use my cell phone." Ryan handed his cellular phone to her. After Ben told her what supplies would be needed, she made several phone calls over the next ten minutes, asking for a crew and equipment. Within half an hour, a rescue crew had arrived on the scene.

For the next several hours, the crew cleared away the debris blocking the back entrance, assisted by Ben. Drawing on his knowledge of building construction, he gave suggestions as to the safest way to clear away the debris. To everyone's relief, his wig and sunglasses kept the construction workers and Israeli police from recognizing him.

All the while, Richard and Christina watched from across the street, holding each other, praying; Ryan and Kristen stood next to David, holding the babies. The sun beat down on their heads; again and again, they had to wipe their sweaty faces. David fidgeted and squirmed, a tense expression etched on his perspiring face. "The patch is wearing off," he told the Dalys. "I need to replace it, but I don't have my box of patches with me."

Richard put a hand on his arm. "Please, God, take the craving away from my friend here." Minutes later, David relaxed.

At sunset, a hole four feet in diameter was knocked through the back of the building. One of the firefighters approached it, shouting, "Rachel! Can you hear me?"

Rachel's dirt-encrusted face appeared in the opening. "Yeah. I can see you, too!" Monica appeared behind her, peering around Rachel's head. The angel's own hair hung disheveled.

The firefighter held out his hand. "Give me your hand, ladies, and I'll help you out. One at a time."

"You go first, Rachel," Monica told the young girl.

Nodding, Rachel extended both arms through the hole; the firefighter gently grasped her by the armpits and pulled her out. Her purse dangled from her shoulder. As he set her on the pavement, Monica reached through the hole next. Gently, the same firefighter helped her out.

Rachel rushed toward her mother, who clasped the young girl to her bosom. Richard wrapped his own arms around both. "Thank You, God!" Christina whispered. "Thank You for keeping our little girl alive and for helping us find her!"

"Amen!" Richard agreed. Dropping his hands to his sides, he looked at Monica. "And thank you for staying with her."

Monica smiled. "You're welcome." She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket to wipe her face, then handed it to Rachel. "You need to wipe your face, too," she told the young girl. "It's dirty." Nodding, Rachel rubbed the soft handkerchief over her cheeks and forehead. Monica felt her hair and laughed. "And we both need to comb our hair!" Giggling, Rachel nodded agreement. Christina pulled a comb out of her pants pocket and handed it to Rachel.

"You also need a bath," Christina told her daughter. She looked down at her rumpled blouse, then laughed. "Fact is, we all do!" Richard and the others chuckled ruefully.

Rachel combed her hair, then handed the comb to Monica. As Monica ran it through her tangled brown hair, Rachel turned toward the ruins. "Miss Weizmann's still in there." She bit her lower lip as she spoke.

Her father nodded. "They're looking for her now, honey." He turned to Monica. "Is it true what Rachel said, earlier?"

Monica nodded, deep sadness etched on her expressive face. "I'm afraid so," she said. "She died, the day of the earthquake. Andrew took her Home." She clasped her hands in front of her waist. The adults slumped their shoulders, nodding and exchanging glances.

At that moment, the fire chief approached the Dalys. "We've found a body in there," he said, removing his hard hat. He reached up to wipe beads of perspiration off his forehead. "The body of a woman—I'm afraid it's badly mangled." He looked around. "Where is David Weizmann?"

"Over there. With the Whittakers." Richard pointed toward the concrete slab. Ryan and Kristen exchanged concerned glances; Kristen put a hand on David's shoulder.

As the others watched, the fire chief approached David and spoke to him. Silently, the grief-stricken man rose to his feet and followed the fire chief around the corner of the building. Ryan and Kristen rejoined the others. Rachel sobbed.

"I know, sweetie." Christina put an arm around her daughter's shoulder. "We all feel sad because Deborah's gone. But she's in Heaven now, with Jesus. And in three-and-a-half years, she'll be getting a new body."

"Yes." Monica's eyes shone. "A body that can never die or get hurt again!"

David reappeared at the corner, shoulders slumped. The fire chief had his arm around the man's back. He dropped his hand to his side and halted, watching David approach the others.

"I—I just identified her," he said, his voice wooden. "She—she looked..." He took a deep breath. "My sister! She was only 25 years old—she shouldn't have died like this!" His voice choked. "I killed her! Oh, Deborah, I'm so sorry!" He covered his face with his hands and wept.

As Monica watched him, she felt so badly for him. This was a terrible time for David—his grief and his feelings of guilt had to be running deep. She so yearned to comfort the man. Silently, she prayed that God would give her the right words.

She approached David and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Deborah is in the Father's arms now," she told him. "You'll be reunited with her soon, when it's time. Either when you die, or when Jesus returns."

David nodded. "She died without knowing that I know Him now."

Monica nodded. "Yes, she did, but the Father told her as soon as she joined Him. She's rejoicing that you've come to know His Son, David."

David sighed. "I don't know what I'm going to do now. Deborah's gone, and I have nothing to live for."

Tess approached the assembled group. "As a matter of fact, David, you do." Putting her hands on her hips, she looked from one to another. "God has an important job for you. For all of you." She paused to scan their faces. "He wants all of you to help the Israeli Jews escape to Petra when the time comes, very soon."

David shook his head and stumbled off, his shoes clicking on the pavement. He disappeared around the corner. "I'll go after him," Monica said. She hurried after David, finding him alone on an intersection corner. He had covered his face with his hands; agonized sobs erupted. 

**END OF CHAPTER 15 **

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	17. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER 16**

"David, God sees your pain," she said gently. "He sees how deeply you're grieving and how guilty you're feeling. He has forgiven you for your treatment of Deborah, and now He wants you to forgive yourself. He wants you to give it all to Him, so He can heal you." She paused, gazing skyward, then looked into David's eyes. "Deborah wants you to know she forgives you, too. She just asked the Father to give you that message."

She embraced him for a long moment, comforting him. The smell of stink reached her nostrils. He had clearly not bathed since leaving Rome that morning.

At last, David stepped back, taking a deep breath. He bit his lower lip. "Sometimes I wonder, Monica—what's the point?" Jerking his handkerchief out of his pants pocket, he blew his nose.

Monica nodded. "I know. And yet, there _is_ a point, a purpose. God has you here for a reason." She paused, gazing into his eyes. "David, have you ever wondered how your family managed to escape from Communism so many years ago?"

David nodded. "I know only that Jehovah protected us."

"Yes. He did." Monica clasped her hands in front of her waist. "He sent an angel to get you to safety."

David gazed at her. "He did?"

Monica nodded. "You've said you remember a light in front of the fence."

David gaped at her, then nodded. "Yes, I do." He glanced at the wisps of clouds drifting overhead.

Monica touched his arm; he turned his gaze back to her. "God wants you to remember the rest now." She smoothed her hair back.

As David watched her, he froze. Images exploded in his head...

_The unearthly light that rose in front of the barbed-wire fence loomed lighter and brighter now. Little David gaped up at it. At that moment, a slender woman with long, dark-brown hair stepped out of the light. Beams of unearthly light radiated from her body. An angel! _

"_Be not afraid," she said gently. She looked from person to person, smiling tenderly at the little boy. "My name is Monica, and God has sent me here to see that you leave this country safely. God is with you all, and He will see you safely to Israel." _

_She turned toward the fence, and a gate David had not noticed before creaked open. Silently, the grown-ups crept toward it, carrying their children and their baggage, David's mother raising a finger to her lips to warn him to be quiet. The little boy clutched his father's neck, taking quick, deep breaths. A moment later, the gate clicked shut behind them. Overhead, stars dotted the velvet sky. The cool night breeze caressed the little boy's cheeks. _

"_Come with me." Monica extended her hand. "You're not out of danger yet—there are guards in the distance, waiting to shoot anyone who tries to escape. Stay with me until you are out of their range." David's mother took the angel's hand, and the others surrounded the two. David's father kept his arms wrapped around his son. _

_Noiselessly, the two families followed the angel through the tall grass that covered the field. Minutes passed as David wrapped his arms around his father's neck; in return, the elder Mr. Weizmann clutched him against his chest. The familiar smell of men's cologne wafted toward the boy's nose. No one spoke. Silence lay all over the field. _

_At last, Monica turned to the assembled group. "I must go now." She smiled at them, compassion radiating in her eyes. "The guards cannot shoot you now—you are safely out of their range. God will see you safely to Israel." She disappeared at that moment..._

Daniel gaped at the angel. "You—_you're_ the angel who helped us get past that gate and those guards!" His voice shook. "That bright light was _you_!"

Monica nodded. "Yes, I am, and yes, it was." She smiled. "I was in Search and Rescue, then. In those days, God sent me to help people who were in danger. As you and your family were."

David sighed. "You're trying to tell me something, Monica, and I'm missing it." He stuck his hands into his pockets, slumping his shoulders. He glanced at the crushed building behind her.

Monica chuckled. "What I'm trying to tell you, David, is that God had a purpose for you and for Benjamin." She patted his arm. "He saved you from the Communists then, so you could have a role in saving your fellow Jews now."

David bit his lower lip, then nodded. "From Puccini." Monica nodded.

Sadness welled up in the angel's eyes. "He's going to break his treaty of protection with your people very soon now, and when he does, you and your people will have to flee Israel. God foresaw this day, and saw that you would be needed. But you have to accept the role, the ministry He's given you. It will help heal your grieving heart. The Dalys and the Whittakers will be on hand to help you. And God will send warrior angels and Search-and-Rescue angels to see your people safely to Petra."

She paused, then laid a hand on David's arm. "Let yourself grieve your sister's death—you will get through it more successfully if you do. Don't try to suppress your grief or pretend that it isn't there. But let God comfort you, and be prepared to accept His call when it comes. It will come soon."

David sighed, rubbing his forehead. "All right. I accept." Monica beamed.

The two rejoined the others. "I've decided to do it," David told them.

Benjamin nodded. "And so have I."

Richard, Ryan, and Christina exchanged glances. "Whatever God has in mind for us, we'll do." Richard smiled. "I can help pilot the Jews to Petra."

"And so can I," Ryan added. Christina and Rachel nodded their own acquiescence of the assignment.

Tess smiled. She looked at Monica, glanced skyward, then turned her gaze back to the others. "That is good. We must go now, as God has another assignment for us, but we will soon be back to help you prepare. That day is fast approaching, so you don't have much time."

"No." Richard pursed his lips. "When the Mark of the Beast is required, we'll all be fugitives." He frowned. "By the way, Tess, who is this friend you told me about? And where does he live?"

"He lives in West Jerusalem." Tess paused. "Go to his home in the morning-you will find a written copy of his name and address in your hotel. He will sell you some of his gold. David had better buy some from him, too."

The angels strolled down the street, then vanished. "Come on." Richard gestured ahead. "The sun will be setting soon, so let's go back to the hotel. We have to pray and to make some decisions as to what to do."

Christina nodded. "First, though, we need to take baths and eat." She hugged Rachel to her side and smiled at her.

As her husband picked his way down the ruined street, the others followed. Overhead, a dove cooed as it flew toward the sunset. 

**THE END **

**©2004 by KathyG.**

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